


Continuum

by Reign_of_Rayne



Category: RWBY
Genre: Adam Survives, Adam is still a tool who needs to work on himself, Gen, Second Chances, Time Travel, actual communication, but he is a tool with severe trauma and understandable goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Rayne/pseuds/Reign_of_Rayne
Summary: He fell to his death in Argus. He woke up in Forever Fall.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna & Adam Taurus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm just vibing with "Adam Survives" stories. This has also been posted on fanfiction.net.

Blake's punch sent him reeling. His heels scraped along the ground, scattering the broken halves of Gambol Shroud's blade. He could taste blood in his mouth.

He was losing.

Blake's gaze flicked down. His followed: Gambol Shroud's hilt, topped by a jagged section of the blade. A weapon. They went for it at the same time: him, to keep it from her, to buy himself a precious moment to reload Blush's magazine. Her, to finish him off.

In the end, she was faster.

He felt both halves punch through him. Felt his skin break and muscles tear. Felt a strange, spreading cold that outpaced the pain and left him numb. All thoughts of recovery fled. He stood there, speechless, his blood dripping onto the rock below.

His hands trembled. Realization washed over him.

He wasn't losing. He'd lost.

"Oh."

They yanked Gambol Shroud out of him. First from the back, then from the front. The numbness spread. He staggered forward, thoughts dragging, blood drenching his jacket.

He collapsed to his knees. Tried to look up.

Fell.

Weightless, he watched his world slide between the water below and sky above. He hit rock, and across the distance between his mind and his body, agony echoed. Flipping too fast to see anything but a blur, he hit the water and sat up with a gasp. Heaving for breath, his hands scraped over his shirt, feeling for holes that weren't there. Heart pounding, he pressed harder, desperation whirling—

"Adam, are you awake?"

A hand wrapped around the front flap of the tent and pulled it aside, revealing Blake. He froze. She stared at him for a moment, neither of them moving, and then offered a tentative, playful smile. "Did you actually sleep in for once?"

He opened his mouth but had nothing to say. Her smile slowly disappeared, replaced by concern. "Adam? Is something wrong?"

Is something wrong. _Is something wrong._

In the silence, other sounds drifted through the tent's opening: laughter, conversation, a few fires. He could see shadows moving beyond Blake, shadows dressed in the standard White Fang uniform.

It was a camp. He was in a White Fang camp, and…and Blake was here as well, looking at him like nothing was wrong. She was dressed differently too. Instead of the tall boots and crop top he remembered, she was clothed in her old white cropped shirt and black vest. In her hair rested the bow he had thought she long ago discarded.

"What…what happened?" he managed.

That concern became genuine worry. She stepped inside, letting the tent close behind her, and knelt next to him. He couldn't stop staring. There was no fear of him and no demands to be left alone. It was as though her memories of him had been reset along with her clothes. "It's an hour before dawn," she said. "Nothing's happened yet. Did you have a nightmare?"

A nightmare. Was it a nightmare? All of it? No. Impossible.

With effort, he pulled his expression back into something approaching neutrality. "No. I'm fine." Asking Blake what day it was would only make her worry worse. Instead, he looked around the tent, hunting for something familiar that could give him a sense of where and when he was, because clearly, this was far from Argus. His lack of injury and Blake's behavior both left no room for doubt. His attention landed on his mask, set within arm's reach of his sleeping pad, and then Wilt and Blush, laid parallel to him for easy access in case of an attack. Finally, he focused on the trees just barely visible through the opening the breeze created in the tent flaps. Red trees.

Forever Fall.

And suddenly, he knew exactly where he was. Blake had said it was an hour before dawn. The train came at dawn, so the mission didn't start for an hour.

She stood when he did, biting her lip. He wasn't convincing her at all. "Are you sure you're okay? I can do the mission on my own if you're not—"

"No," he cut in, and her slight flinch didn't escape his notice. He wasn't the only one failing to put up a good act. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous point."

His dismissal was clear. With a slow nod, she backed out of the tent. The flap fell back into place, and he was alone. The storm of conflicting desires that had roared to life with her arrival began to calm. He let out a slow breath, scanning his tent once more while he smoothed out his shirt. There were any of a hundred questions he could ask, but he had no way to get answers. As Sienna had once said during a mission gone awry, the only way out was through.

First things first, he needed to change out of his rumpled sleep clothes. His old jacket was neatly folded on a blanket spread over the ground next to a full change of clothes. He must have laid them out last night.

Last night. It _wasn't_ last night. It was years ago. And yet…

In the middle of changing, he paused briefly to run his fingers across the unblemished skin on his chest. No sign of the fatal wounds Blake and her apparent new _partner_ Yang had inflicted, but he knew that they had been there as sure as he knew the sun would rise every morning.

He slid on his pants, buttoned his shirt, tucked his banner into his belt, and shrugged on his jacket. Socks and boots came next. He finished with Wilt and Blush settled in place at his waist. He finger-combed his hair into the weak show of order that it was used to and then, after a moment of hesitation, fit his mask over his face. Its weight and texture were at once comforting and disconcerting.

After a breath to steel himself, he ducked out of his tent. In the meager predawn light, he was greeted with exactly what he had expected: their camp in Forever Fall. Tents stood scattered around in a loose formation, crates sat stacked in a few places in preparation for moving the next day, and a handful of campfires threw flickering light over the sentries taking breaks between shifts. To his left, the command tent had a light burning in it despite the early hour. There was no sign of Blake.

The longer he looked around, the more memories came crawling back. He had blocked out most of this day except for the moment Blake cut her car free and abandoned him, but there was more happening now than just her imminent betrayal. Setting his jaw, he headed for the command tent. Both flaps were tied back, giving him an easy view inside. It was all painfully familiar: the large map of Remnant in the back, a map of Vale to the left. Under the view of the city lay a few shelves of supplies, spare uniforms, and vials of Dust. In the middle stood a table laden with detailed plans for the upcoming attack and a single lamp. And at that table—

"James," Adam greeted.

His lieutenant glanced up from the plans and pushed off the table to stand straight and nod in return. "Sir."

Though his expression was hidden behind his full-face mask, his confusion was clear. Adam was supposed to be gone by now.

"Something has come to my attention," Adam began, walking up to the table. There was no way realistic way to justify what he was about to say, but he could lead into it and lie to deflect suspicion. "Rumors."

"Rumors, sir?"

"One of the scouts reported to me just now that there have been sightings of that woman and her lackeys in the forest nearby."

James's shoulders tensed. "I thought you made our stance clear to her."

"I did. I also thought she understood. Clearly, I was wrong." He let a hand rest over where their camp was on the map of Forever Fall. This map was far more detailed than the one of Remnant. He could see the train tracks winding through the forest before they smoothed out next to the cliff. "With Blake and I going on this mission, the camp will be more vulnerable than normal." He held up his other hand to forestall James's defense. "I know your abilities. I know our comrades' abilities. But that woman acted with a huntress's level of confidence, and I don't doubt that the other two are strong as well. It's a risk we don't need to take." He took his hand off the map. "Pack up the camp. Move to our fallback position and wait for further orders."

"Sir, moving just because those three were seen is—"

He slammed his palm on the table, shutting James up before he could finish questioning his orders. "Do it, lieutenant," he snarled.

Taken aback, James stared for a second before he slowly nodded. "Understood."

* * *

They met in the clearing. They headed for the train. They boarded the train. They fought off the drones. Adam did it all on autopilot, attention laser-focused on Blake. Where was the sign? It wasn't this morning. Her tent had still been up next to his, her few things scattered around. She'd decided to leave _on_ the train, not beforehand. So when had she done it?

The lid of the Dust crate fell closed. "Take the next car. I'll set the charges."

Blake's eyes widened a fraction. "What about the crew members?"

Time stood still. This was the moment, he realized. This was the very instant everything had started going wrong. Losing her had been the point of no return. Staring up at him, ears folded back, Blake looked like she was expecting the worst. Like she already knew his answer and was just asking to confirm it. Like she was trying to give him one final chance to change her mind. The first time, he had only solidified her decision to leave. This time, he needed to give her a reason to stay.

He needed time with her. Time to understand why she did what she did and why their story, _his_ story, had ended the way it had. What could he say? What was the wrong thing? What was the right thing? _Was_ there a right thing?

His indecision cost him his chance: in front of the door they had entered through, the spider droid dropped down with a clang that shook the whole car. Its four cannons glowed, and he and Blake split to avoid the blasts. He dove behind crates for cover, but Blake had other plans. She charged the droid, getting in one slash before it kicked her back. She rolled and stayed down, stunned. He picked up the slack, but Wilt's edge only scraped across the hardened metal plates of the droid's armor without cutting through. He got his guard up just barely in time to avoid the same fate as Blake, but more shots from its cannon forced him back.

As the droid advanced through the car, it focused on Blake, lifting one leg to run her through on its pointed tip.

Reflex and conscious thought fell into perfect sync: he focused his aura on his legs and pulled her away before the droid could impale her. He and Blake both reassessed. He wasn't going to have an opportunity to talk to her until the droid was dead. To do that the way he had before, he needed to bait it into using its beam attack once he was ready.

But absorbing an attack that powerful would cost him a significant amount of strength. Blake had used that opening before to get away, and he hadn't yet been able to get a word in to change her mind about doing the same thing this time.

"We need to get out of here!" Blake said.

The droid agreed, faking them out with separate cannon shots before combining them into the beam. Though he was in no way ready for it, Adam managed to take the brunt of it on Wilt, but he hadn't had the time to brace and they were both knocked back onto the next flat car. Wind whistled through his hair. Blake winced as she got to her feet next to him. The droid crawled out of the new hole in the car wall.

He could see the old plan perfectly. He would ask her for time, ready himself, absorb the attack, and use the energy to utterly annihilate the droid. It was a good plan. A clean plan.

A plan that had cost him Blake.

His eyes shifted from the droid to the snowflake-stamped crates stacked all over the car. The Schnees had been careful about packing them so that, even if their defenses were activated and stray attacks hit the Dust, it wouldn't detonate. But if someone were to deliberately try to set it off…

"Blake," he said, nodding towards the crates. She followed his gaze. "Buy me some time."

"How much?"

"As much as you can."

She set her jaw, then took off. He watched her weave around more cannon fire for a second before turning his attention to the nearby crates. He checked a few before he found the ones he was looking for. Inside, the yellow Dust gleamed. He tossed the lids aside, then kicked the crates into a haphazard pile. Several crystals spilled out without detonating. Right as he finished, Blake let out a shriek. The droid had kicked her again, this time with far more force.

"Adam!"

Gambol Shroud whipped through the air, the end of its ribbon clutched in Blake's hands. He leaped up to catch it, landed, and yanked, but gravity had already begun pulling her down. She hit the edge of the car with a grunt, arms over but the rest of her body dangling down. Her feet had to be inches above the tracks. Adam slid to his knees next to her and swiftly helped her up.

They set up away from the Dust he'd collected behind a different set of crates. Lightly favoring her right leg, she peered out from between boxes to eye his impromptu trap. "Is it ready?"

"Enough."

They stayed crouched behind cover. The droid took several potshots, but it had lost them in the maze of crates. It didn't seem to care about the Dust scattered around the car as it clambered over various boxes to get closer to where it had last seen them. Every step it took was another vibration on top of the wheels on the tracks below.

He waited until those vibrations were coming from the right place. Then, in a rush of black and red, he shot up from cover, sighted down Blush, and fired a single shot.

The droid was mid-stride when the bullet shattered the first Dust crystal under it. That one impact set off a chain reaction of lightning. Adam was blasted back, hitting a net of cables and ties with a pained grunt. He got to his feet as the storm of electricity began dying down.

He and Blake approached the droid slowly with their weapons at the ready. The metal underfoot was scorched and scarred. The droid's few red lights flickered weakly as its fried systems attempted a reset. Before it could get the chance, Adam braced himself and stabbed Wilt through the joint under its chin that connected its head and body. Blake had weakened it during her distraction, and he used that vulnerability now. The droid twitched, cannons uselessly rotating quarters of degrees in random directions. A satisfied grin pulled at his lips, and with a flourish, he activated his semblance and ripped Wilt free. The droid's head clanged against the floor. He sheathed Wilt in perfect time to the metal breaking apart into petals. It wasn't nearly enough power to disintegrate the entire thing, but its brain was gone. The body slumped, the last of its light dying. The droid was dead.

He didn't need to turn around to know that Blake was backing away.

"Wait," he said. He slowly faced her, searching her expression for any hint of the same gentle teasing she had shown him earlier. There was none. Only fear at being caught before she could put more distance between them. She knew she was still well within reach.

"I—I should check to make sure there aren't any more in the other cars," she tried. Her words fell flat. She edged back another step. Her attempt at a poker face was decent enough, but did she think her bow could hide what her ears revealed?

"You're trying to leave." It was a fact, and he stated it as such. Blake's eyes went wide. Her ears went flatter than they had in the train car. She stepped away when he stepped forward. "Blake." Rage wouldn't serve him here and he'd burned it all out in front of the waterfall anyway. He didn't want to fight. He wanted to understand. "Why?"

In her fear, she couldn't decide which half of his mask to focus on. She swallowed. "I just can't do this, Adam. It's gone too far."

He narrowed his eyes, the dregs of a different and far older anger stirring. "The crewmembers."

"They're innocent!"

"No human is innocent!" He swept a hand over the train. "This Dust was mined with the blood of _our_ people and they do nothing about it. You call that innocence?"

"It's not guilt! What happened to shades of gray?"

"We haven't had that luxury in a long time," he growled.

To his surprise, she set her jaw and stopped trying to edge away. "Mercy isn't a luxury, Adam. It's what makes us who we are. It's what separates us from the Grimm!"

He all but ripped the mask off his face. She flinched at the sight of the scar and the anger in his eyes, and he forced himself to take a breath and speak clearly. "I am showing them _exactly_ the amount of mercy they showed me."

And though she was trembling, though her voice shook, her words cut him to the core. "Then this isn't about revolution. It's about revenge."

He clenched his hand into a fist before he did something rash. "This is a war. You do whatever is necessary."

"Killing the crewmembers _isn't_ necessary. We can—we could just cut off their cars. We could throw the Dust off the train. The SDC would still lose money like that!"

Already preparing to dismiss her words, he stopped. On the surface, she was right. This was about wrecking the train and destroying the SDC's Dust and all the profit it represented. Destroying it was a step above mere robbery. It was a declaration that even the White Fang wouldn't touch the SDC's Dust. A wholesale rejection of a valuable resource on principle alone.

What would slaughtering the crewmembers add to that? It would spread greater fear of the White Fang, but their moral stance would be tainted by blood. It was this pattern of thought, this dismissal of casualties, that had made him deaf to the screams of the faunus civilians in Vale as Beacon fell, that had set him on the path to betraying his brethren at Haven, that had sent him on a single-minded quest to take out his own rage and humiliation on Blake as though that would undo any of the horrors he had committed.

His dismissal died on his tongue. On its surface? No. All the way down.

"You're right."

She stared like she hadn't heard, still braced for a rejection that would not come. He closed his eyes and released Blush's trigger. When had he prepared to attack her again? When had seeing her as the enemy become so natural? Even with all of his second-guessing, he had nearly ruined this second chance on something as trite as reflex.

He opened his eyes. Met her gaze. "You're right, Blake. Killing the crew members is going too far."

She didn't believe him, but when he only waited for her response, her confusion shifted to cautious hope. "Then you won't hurt them?"

_You_. Not _we_. He didn't want to know how thin this line of possibility he walked truly was. "No. Not if we don't have to." He put his mask back in place. "But if we're going to do this, we're doing it together."

_I'm not letting you out of my sight_. Her hope flickered, but she held onto it and nodded. That flash he'd seen when she had first asked about the crew members, that implied hope that he would do better than she expected, now served as just enough faith to hold together her trust in him.

He didn't have to force her. She _wanted_ to do it. He felt the strange urge to laugh, but he knew it would come out far too manic. All along, all he'd needed to do was _talk_.

* * *

From a vantage point atop a couple of trees stretching up from a small hill, he and Blake watched the Dust explode in a massive, multicolored cloud. Bolts of lightning, shards of ice, balls of fire, and tens of other spontaneous combinations raced through the smoke that ballooned into a cloud massive enough to block out the sun. The shockwave flew across Forever Fall, buffeting them with harsh wind laced with the smell of ozone.

Far in front of that explosion, the cars he and Blake had packed with all the train's employees and severed from the Dust cars continued rolling forward.

The brief high of a successful mission couldn't last. As they dropped back to the ground, the gravity of what Blake had nearly done weighed in the air. He stood in front of her. He didn't know what to say. It had all been so clear as they convinced—threatened—the crewmembers into the forward cars, but now, he was in uncharted waters.

Blake wouldn't even meet his eyes, but she was still the first to speak. "What now?"

They both knew that what she had tried to do amounted to treason. At her rank, the punishment was severe. In the end, the true extent of it was up to Adam as the leader of the branch, but the standard was disfigurement or death.

He never entertained either possibility for even a second. "Do you truly want to leave?"

"I did," she answered, conflicted. "You—you've changed, Adam. Turned cruel. I don't—didn't—it wasn't right."

So that was it. His line in the sand had split from hers, and she hadn't seen a way to bring it back.

"I want to believe this is real," she continued. "I really do. I just…I'm scared it's not."

Perhaps it said something about how significantly his actions on the train had affected her view of him that she was willing to be this honest despite her fears. That kind of trust demanded reciprocity.

"You showed me the dark path I was taking today," he began slowly. It was a lie, but a harmless one. This Blake didn't know that it wasn't her words that had changed him but rather learning all of these lessons the hard way. His final moments in Argus had been…illuminating. "The White Fang _is_ a force for revolution, and it _is_ meant to help the faunus above all else. I failed to realize how I was using it for my own ends. That can change. It will change." He paused for a beat, his heart battling against what needed to be done. "With or without you at my side."

It had to be her choice. He wasn't going to keep her prisoner with the same kind of manipulations he had used for years as he sensed her slowly pulling away; that mentality of control had only hurt them both. He needed her to have faith in him and believe in what he was doing if he didn't want to end up with the same pathetic ending as before.

She pressed her lips together, searching for an answer in his face she would only find inside herself. Her shoulders dropped with her gaze. "I need space."

Though he had seen it coming, it still managed to leave his stomach twisting. "I see."

"I've spent my whole life in the White Fang. There's more out there. I…I want to see it, Adam. I want to live a normal life outside of this war even if it's just for a little while. I've done all this fighting. I want to use what experience I have to protect people, not just raid Dust convoys."

An urge he had never felt. To him, the Grimm were a secondary threat. He knew the answer, but he asked anyway: "Where will you go?"

It was tacit permission, and her ears lifted. She finally looked him in the eye. "Beacon Academy in Vale."

Oh, the trust required to tell him outright where she was going. No more frantically scanning maps only for his frustrated rage to demand he cast her aside entirely, no more hunting through every face he saw on every mission he ran for a single sign of her presence. She simply told him.

This was a good thing. This was progress, wasn't it?

In the distance, the dissipating Dust cloud, blown thin by the wind, finally let the sun shine through.

"A huntress hardly lives a normal life," he said, but his jab was hardly intended to dissuade her. She even cracked a smile.

"I'll still be reachable, okay?" She tapped the pocket holding her scroll. "You can call me. And," she hesitated, "if you need—if there's information, I'll—I can see what I can find."

An offer in exchange for him letting her go. A way for her to reciprocate. And, though she didn't know it, an opportunity.

"I'll keep in touch," he said.

She took a step back, and then it clicked with him: this was the last he would see of her for a while. The childish need to keep her close for just a little bit longer surged, and he spoke without thinking: "You can collect your things from the camp."

She stiffened in surprise. "What?"

"Your things." Before, she had simply left them behind. It wasn't much, every Fang soldier packed light, but her novels and sketchbooks had always been precious to her. "I'll deal with informing the camp that you're going away on," he spared a second to think of a suitable cover, "an infiltration mission. You won't face any resistance for that."

The beginnings of a far wider smile tugged at her lips, but she was far too reserved to show its full extent. "Adam, I—I don't know what to say."

Frankly, he didn't either. All of this, when compared to the original progression of events, was ludicrous. And yet, as she followed him back towards the fallback camp location, he couldn't deny that it felt so much better.

* * *

He saw Blake off in a quiet stretch of the woods just beyond the camp's edge. That hope in her eyes burned brighter than ever. It gave her new energy and a subtle bounce in her step he hadn't seen in years. They embraced briefly for the first time in as long as he could remember. He savored the moment. He had never expected to experience anything like it again.

James was waiting for him in the newly erected command tent. "Sir. Blake's gone?"

"Yes. I'll be maintaining constant contact should we move closer to Vale." A niggling thought gnawed at him as he stared down at the maps. His eyes fell onto their base's former location. "How long until we move to rendezvous with the camp to the south?"

"A few hours."

Plenty of time. "Wait for me to return," he said. James frowned at him.

"What are you doing?"

"An errand. I need to confirm something. I'll be back soon."

* * *

There were few things in life that truly satisfied him. There were even fewer that could make him happy. That being said, watching Cinder scream in rage and slam a heel into the ground in the middle of the vanished camp from a hidden position in the trees did bring a smile to his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of a clear timeline with RWBY is, ironically enough, very annoying.

He sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. His mask would just get in the way. "Another one, Blake? It's only been a day."

On the other end of the line, Blake's expression didn't change. _"There were at least twenty human supremacists making threats yesterday. If the White Fang hadn't been there, they would've attacked the protestors. Who knows how many are going to show up at this one?"_

There was no point in suggesting she or the activists back down. For one, Blake wasn't in charge of this particular operation; she was merely a concerned observer. For another, retreating in the face of human opposition—even in a case as banal as this—left a bad taste in his mouth.

It had begun with a sit-in. One sit-in security detail became two. Then there was a picket line. A march. Now, a fourth sit-in the day after the third. His branch was quickly developing a split reputation: half as murderous terrorists, half as the guardians of the peaceful protestors. It was only a matter of time before the news of that change reached Sienna in Mistral. Unlike any of his calls with Blake, that was a conversation he was not looking forward to.

Still, this was for the faunus, just in a different way than his usual methods. He had the resources to spare in Vale. There was no real argument he could put out against it other than that it was wholly unlike his branch's normal operations—and that argument was far weaker now than it had been the first time.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

She smiled. _"Thanks, Adam."_

He absently flicked an ant off his shoulder. "Enough of planning and operations. Tell me about Beacon."

He had quickly discovered on these calls that Blake, while she would tolerate a certain amount of professional White Fang discussion, much preferred talking about her time at Beacon far more. The calls where she went into detail about her experiences always lasted the longest. With her as far from his side as she had ever been as an ally, and with how her time at Beacon had ended previously, he sought every opportunity to extend his time with her. Partly to check that she _was_ still on his side, partly because he liked just being able to talk to her like this was normal.

He couldn't deny that he enjoyed listening to Blake's tales of her time at the huntsman academy. In his first life, he had only seen it in the distance or as he was tearing it down. Blake described it as a beautiful place full of strange quirks and stranger people. He knew he was getting a sanitized version—the fact that Blake only focused on faunus discrimination in Vale as opposed to what had to be happening in Beacon didn't escape his notice—but he was willing to let small omissions like that slide. He was even, for now, willing to overlook how she had avoided talking about one member of her team in particular.

In the middle of Blake relating how her team had been inadvertently dragged into foiling a major Dust heist, Adam picked up on other voices coming from behind her. Blake's eyes went wide.

_"I have to go."_

It wasn't the first time her teammates had interrupted a call. He nodded.

_"Ooooh, Blake, is that your mysterious boyfriend? Let me have a loo—"_

The line closed. He stared at the blank screen for a moment, vague plans of who to call and how to set this…guard detail up swirling. In lieu of an actual call, he fired off a couple of messages to the man who had handled the sit-in security the last time. The acknowledgement he received in return was almost instantaneous. With a sigh, he pushed off the tree, flicked his scroll closed, and tucked it into an inner pocket.

Before, Blake had done everything she could to distance herself from the White Fang and even the activists taking action in Vale. With how closely he had been combing through intelligence from the city after her betrayal, he would have heard of her supporting the activists eventually. She had cut all ties with the faunus to avoid detection. Now, though she wasn't directly participating, she was trying to help from behind the scenes.

And he was helping her do it. With a small shake of his head to dismiss the conflicted fondness those thoughts drew up, he headed to the center of camp. He had taken the call on the edge for the scant privacy it offered.

Their camp, whole and crowded again after having separated into two for missions on opposite sides of Vale, had moved multiple times over the last several weeks. They had been in this location for just over three days, but plenty of the soldiers had already set up social groups (and several poker rings they thought he didn't know about) around some of the campfires and on fallen logs for seating. On his way, he nodded to several of them soldiers who waved or otherwise acknowledged him before he ducked into the command tent. Morale was as high as it had ever been in spite of the rumors that their branch was losing its hardline stance.

He wasn't going soft, he knew that, but he also knew there were elements out there who would come to that conclusion.

It was past time he corrected that.

When he straightened inside the main tent, he was greeted by the sight of his two officers staring at the pirated signal being broadcast to a jury-rigged TV set in the back of the tent. About to ask why they were allowing themselves to be distracted when there was an attack to plan, he instead found himself focusing on the broadcast itself. Lisa Lavender's voice droned on in the background, but he didn't care about that. What he cared about was the shaky video of a line of faunus all in White Fang uniforms standing between human supremacists at the front of a shop and a group of faunus sitting in the back.

The third sit-in. He drifted closer, picking out more details as the footage looped. Whoever was behind the camera was panning from the furious shouting humans to the line of silent faunus. At first glance, the faunus all looked to be wearing standard White Fang uniforms. But, the longer he looked, the more oddities he noticed. Some of the uniforms weren't actually white. Many of them weren't actually wearing the standard black hooded jacket, instead substituting with other colors, scarves, or hats. More than a few of the masks were obviously homemade with rough edges, lopsided eye holes, or nonstandard materials.

James was the first to notice that Adam had actually entered the tent. "Sir," he said.

The other officer, Fable, turned as well and gave a quick salute. She was technically only a field sergeant, not a lieutenant, hence the gesture. For now, she was acting as Blake's substitute with official Fang duties, saving Adam from wasting time on what would have been a significant increase in paperwork and day-to-day duties.

"What's the story?" he asked, nodding towards the TV. He was coming in towards the end of the piece, but these two had probably been watching since the start.

James crossed his arms. "They started by saying it was an attempt to start a riot. Then they got angry calls about it and changed to just reporting what actually happened."

What actually happened. A sit-in, a wall of uniformed faunus, and a standoff that had lasted for hours without becoming a brawl like the second one.

"It's free publicity," Fable added. "First time I've seen positive coverage of us of any kind, even if it was only one of the guys at the debate table they had in the middle of the story."

"Have they said anything about the faunus who weren't White Fang joining in?"

"The ones with the messy uniforms? No, not that I saw."

"They seemed to think all of them were full members," James said.

Adam wasn't surprised they had missed details. Far easier to say all of the faunus were White Fang members than to hint at more complex motives. Any story about the White Fang tended to be sensationalized or distorted well beyond objective truth. That was part of the reason many of his attacks tended to be flashy or otherwise impossible to ignore; it was harder to spin what hundreds of people had seen.

And thousands of people had seen this broadcast. Thousands of faunus, those who he knew didn't support his methods but _did_ support the activists. Originally, they had all come crawling out of the woodwork only after the Belladonna's coup at Haven.

This…this was an opportunity.

"Contact squad leaders in Vale," Adam said to Fable while he took up the remote on the table and clicked the TV off. "Tell them to increase recruiting efforts with a focus on this activist story."

Fable nodded. "Yes sir."

With that done, Adam tapped the map on the table. "The rumors that we plan to attack a village outside of the city have spread." The leak—a naïve huntsman thinking he could tail their camp through the forest and not get noticed—had already been dealt with accordingly, but there was no stopping word of mouth. "Any news on bolstered defenses? Extra huntsmen or a hired militia?"

"None," James said. He pointed to their target's sister village some twenty miles away. "This one has hired a huntsman team, but they're bound by contract to that village only."

"Not a threat, then." Adam indicated the cave complex. "And the Grimm presence?"

"Their extermination efforts a month ago culled most of them," Fable said. "Some have returned to the area, but not in numbers enough to be a problem."

"Good. What about the signal jammer?" All this planning would be in vain if the village could cry for help. They'd have huntsmen and bullheads swarming them long before they could get to a safe distance.

"I'll have it by tomorrow," Fable said.

They spent another half an hour hammering out details, squad breakdowns, and important targets. At the end of it, eyeing the marked-up map laden with figures representing squads, Adam nodded. "We'll move to the staging ground the day after tomorrow for a night attack. Dis—"

"RAID!"

The hoarse cry echoed over the camp, cutting him off. He exchanged a glance with Fable and James, and then all three rushed outside to see a column of smoke rising from the tents on the edge of the camp. He picked out the scout who had shouted staggering towards them, three arrows in his back as other Fang soldiers looked in vain for the source of the attack.

"Raid," he gasped again. "There's a—"

A fourth whistled out of the trees to put him down. Adam wasn't fast enough to stop it, but he caught the man before he could hit the dirt face-first, instead lowering him gently. Rage twisted his lips into a snarl.

"Defensive positions!" he barked to the soldiers still missing about in confusion, none of them knowing where the attack was coming from. "Who has eyes on them?"

"To the north!" a deer faunus shouted, pointing almost ninety degrees from where the arrow had come from.

"South!" another cried.

He ground his teeth. They were surrounded with very little cover. Defensive positions wouldn't do anything if they could just get shot in the back. How many were there?

"Those with aura to the outside," Adam ordered with a sweep of his arm. "Form a perimeter and protect your comrades!"

Another arrow shot towards him. It drew sparks off Wilt's blade when he deflected it into the ground below. A moment's inspection showed him that it wasn't an arrow at all: it was a crossbow bolt. As the White Fang soldiers fell into a loose ring around him and the command tent, a hail of those bolts rained down from the trees all around the camp. Most of them missed or merely staggered those with enough aura to take the hit, but a couple got through.

When the shooting stopped, a voice rang out: "We're here to deliver a message!"

Adam snarled and stepped towards the source. His comrades parted the ring around him. Stuck in the sunlight, he couldn't adjust his eyes enough to see through the forest shadows. "Show yourself."

"I'm not that stupid, Adam Taurus."

"Yet you're foolish enough to come here and attack us." He narrowed his eyes, scanning the trees. Details were impossible to pick out, but he could see movement. There were pockets of attackers clustered in pairs and triples. Small squads. If their numbers and distribution around the camp was consistent, that meant there weren't more than forty of them. The bandits were outnumbered, and their range advantage would be moot if he could make the fight close-quarters. "What's your message?"

He caught a glimmer of light directly in front of him. As he'd expected, this was not going to end in a conversation.

Another crossbow bolt, this one tipped with fire Dust, flew from the tree line. He cut it in two, taking its explosive energy into Wilt. He then dug his back foot into the dirt and launched himself forward. More projectiles hurtled towards him, but he whirled Wilt in a disk of red that deflected them all. He was on the first group before they could think to retreat.

All three of the bandits fell back under his assault. Off-balance, they put up a paltry defense that was barely better than nothing. He put down the first with a kick to slam him back into a tree and a slash across his chest. The second got off another shot from her crossbow, but her aim was shaky, and the bolt skimmed over his shoulder. He cut her down, then shot Wilt across the distance to the third. Its hilt slammed into the back of his head. Adam caught up to his blade and finished the job before the bandit could hit the ground.

He turned, flicked away yet another crossbow bolt, and ran to the next group, suppressing any further attacks with shots from Blush to force them behind cover.

A bandit tribe partial to crossbows. There was only one that fit that description. Although his memory of the various agreements his branch had maintained with other underground Vale groups wasn't what it used to be, he was certain that his branch and this tribe had agreed to a plan of mutual avoidance.

They hadn't broken that agreement the first time. What had changed?

He twisted to avoid a bolt aimed at his chest and retaliated with a double tap from Blush that knocked the weapon from the bandit's hand. His knee connected with their chin, breaking teeth and knocking them back. Landing, he spun and focused on the other half of this particular pair, deflecting all of their panicked shots. This one had an actual gun, but it didn't change their fate. Wilt's glowing edge cut through their torso and they collapsed with a scream.

As their voice died, a new sound took over: the roar of James's chainsaw. Under that were staccato gunshots as his people found openings to return fire.

From the sound of it, James was moving clockwise. If Adam did the same, they could sweep the enemy forces.

He set his gaze on the next group of bandits. They were too busy firing at the White Fang soldiers in the center to realize their comrades were falling.

Their mistake.

* * *

"P-p-please," the bandit leader blubbered, tears and snot dribbling down his face. Adam's lip curled at the pathetic display. After being cornered at the edge of the camp, he had put up the bare minimum of what could be called a fight, only to end up on his back like this with Adam standing over him. "It was just—just some hot chick in a red dress, okay, she told us to look for you, rough you up a bit. Burned down half the camp to make sure we did it, okay?" Wilt pressed into his throat, and he hit a new register of desperation. "She said you'd know! Please, man, let me go! You don't kill the messenger!"

So she had threatened them into it. Much of the territory around Vale was contested. The city itself, save for the faunus-rich areas, was indisputably Torchwick's thanks to his recent power grabs; the White Fang, for the most part, operated in separate circles from the human criminal. Any conflicts were minor. Torchwick didn't want a war. He knew as well as Adam did how poorly that would end for him. And though Torchwick was likely still Cinder's ally, his reach beyond Vale was limited. That left the various bandit groups. He didn't know how many she had conscripted into her service, but he doubted this raid would be the last.

He looked back down at the bandit, eyes cold behind his mask. "I _could_ let you go," he said, "and have you inform her that I'm not interested in her human cause."

Hope blossomed in the bandit's expression. Adam shattered it with a cruel grin. "But leaving your bodies to rot in the trees will send the same message. Blood demands blood. If she wants to threaten me into subservience, she should know that she needs to do it herself."

"No, no, ple—"

Wilt stabbed through his throat and the last of his cries were lost to the gurgling sounds of him choking on his own blood. Cleaning his blade on the bandit's jacket and sheathing it, Adam took stock of the damage.

A full half of their tents were either still burning or had been reduced to smoldering piles of ash. What remained of the rest were pockmarked with holes and scorch marks. He counted at least seven supply crates that were open, broken, or otherwise damaged. That wasn't the problem. Things could be replaced easily enough; whatever bandit camp these idiots had come from would serve as a resupply depot. The people, however…

His gaze lingered on the bodies. Most were bandits. There was some pride in that, but that pride couldn't outweigh the seven men and women this raid had cost them. He glanced down at the bandit leader again, wondering if there was still time to inflict further pain, but he'd missed his chance.

Seven dead. _Seven_.

He had underestimated Cinder's persistence and it had cost him seven of his brothers and sisters. There was no honor, no martyrdom in being slain in some bandit raid. The bandits hadn't even cared that they were faunus. They had only cared that _he_ was there. He had brought this slaughter to their door.

His scroll nearly cracked in his grip as he pulled it out.

_"Adam?"_ Confused at the call coming so soon after their last one, Blake looked to be standing under a tree. Possibly between classes or simply out for a walk. It didn't matter. _"Is that blood? What happened?"_

"Bandits," he said. Past his scroll, James and Fable were making rounds among the White Fang survivors. He would need to make this fast. "There is another faction in play that has decided to target the White Fang using the bandits as fodder. They're likely connected to Torchwick and his forces. As a member, undercover—" _former_ , though neither of them would say it—"or otherwise, you're in danger as well. Stay away from the city and be wary of anyone named Cinder Fall."

James was waving him over.

Her brows furrowed. _"Adam—"_

"Stay in touch." He hung up. Though he would need to give her more details at a later time, for now, he had more pressing matters to deal with. If Cinder was going to cost him lives, then he would repay the insult.

* * *

At first, the human information dealer Junior was far from receptive to the idea of a one-on-one meeting with him. Though he had gone to the trouble of personally traveling into Vale and arriving at his club in the industrial district long before it would be full of drunk and dancing civilians, he was still greeted with a swath of guns pointed in his face when the doors slid open.

He counted twenty-three from behind his mask. A frown marred his face. "Junior," he said to the man behind the wall of identically dressed guards, "I didn't realize you were looking to cull your men."

Wilt clicked free. Several of the guards exchanged nervous glances that their gaudy red glasses couldn't hide.

Before Adam could make good on his threat, Junior sighed and waved his guards aside. "Stand down, stand down. I don't need to lose more of you people."

One of the goons—he didn't see who—actually said _"Aw, thanks Boss,"_ which both Adam and Junior ignored. Allowing Wilt to slide back into being fully sheathed, Adam followed Junior down the short steps to the main floor. Empty of patrons, pumping music, and flashing lights, the club looked more like a strange art installation with its minimalist and glassy design. One goon in a ridiculous bear mask stared at them from the elevated DJ station.

Junior took a seat on one of the large semicircular couches in the back. Adam sat on what was approximately the opposite side of the table that could either hold drinks or act as a footrest.

First things first: "How did you know I was coming?"

Looking like he'd aged five years in the span of the walk across his club, Junior sighed and signaled one of his men for drinks. "I had a punk come in and wreck the place a few months ago. Cost me a fortune in damages, and repairs only finished last week. I put up a couple scouts around to warn me if she was coming back, but they saw you instead. It's, uh," he made a vague gesture at the mask and possibly his horns, "a pretty distinctive look."

This human was bold. Still, it wasn't an insult, just a statement of fact. He had been mildly concerned that one of his contacts had let word of his intention to visit slip. It was good to be mistaken on that front.

"Doesn't really seem like your style to come to a person like me," Junior continued.

One of the guards came by with two glasses of what had to be whiskey, judging by the smell.

"I don't enjoy having to use your services," Adam clarified, ignoring the drink set in front of him. "My normal contacts have not been able to get the information I want. They pointed me to you."

"And what information is that?"

Adam reached to pull out his scroll. He paused when the clicks of multiple safeties being flicked off reached his ears. Scowling, Junior waved his men down again.

"I told you, enough of that." He stared until the last of his men presumably put his weapon away before shaking his head.

Producing his scroll, Adam flicked it open and pulled up a rough sketch of Cinder he'd had an artistically inclined recruit mock up. "I'm looking for anything you have on her."

"Hm." Junior leaned forward, took the scroll, and scrutinized the picture. It was far from perfect, but it more than sufficed to capture Cinder's likeness. "She got a name?"

"Cinder Fall."

After another second, he handed the scroll back. "My services usually have a price, you know."

Having expected that, Adam tossed a handful of lien cards on the table. They bounced and scattered. "I trust that's enough for this and for you to keep your silence about it."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's enough." Junior waved one of his men over to collect the money. "Right now, I don't think I have anything on her. I've got my two best out there making rounds. I should hear back in a few hours. If they find anything—"

"That's not necessary." Adam resisted the urge to furrow his brow. For all her posturing, Cinder really was excellent at staying out of the public eye and avoiding scrutiny from all sides. By this point, she was already making significant headway into her plans for the Fall of Beacon, apparently without running into Blake. If she had avoided detection until now, then it was unlikely these two "best" people of Junior's would bring in anything significant.

He would not be able to move against Cinder directly, but that inconvenience did not eliminate all of his options. Far from it. He rested his elbows on his knees and threaded his fingers together.

"What of Torchwick?"

Junior's expression soured instantly. "What about him?"

Cinder didn't have the White Fang to use as grunts anymore, but with Torchwick, there were other—more difficult and more time-consuming, but extant—ways to get bodies on her side. "I've heard that his faction is growing."

If anything, Junior's ire increased. "Yeah, he's been making efforts all over the city. Even approached me again, the bastard."

"Again?"

"He borrowed some of my men for a robbery job. I never got them back." Downing the rest of his drink, Junior waved off the goon coming for a refill. "He's bought out all four of the gangs that used to run the industrial and agricultural districts. All of them have started recruiting like they're gearing up for war. I've barely been able to stay out of it."

A war. He idly wondered if they had gotten their hands on the Paladin robots yet. "What are their numbers?"

"Last estimate put them at a couple thousand, but..."

When Junior didn't continue, Adam frowned. The club owner sighed.

"The count before that put them at almost twice that much. Every time they have some big surge in numbers, half of 'em disappear. No one knows where they go."

Adam sat back in his seat with a hidden smile. He knew exactly where they were going. Cinder had her grand plan; while she hadn't been able to force his branch into aiding her as the foot soldiers, she was not the type to give up so easily. She needed a catastrophe to hurt Vale and get through to Beacon. A gang war would hurt the city, but the huntresses and huntsmen would quickly force a peace treaty. There were no treaties to be made with the Grimm a breach of the defensive walls would bring.

A second Breach, a second Fall of Beacon…he was not willing to stand by and let that happen, even if he was no longer an active participant. Though he cared little for the faunus huntresses and huntsmen at Beacon who threw aside their own suffering and pretended like the Grimm were the only problem, he would not watch the faunus civilians and his own forces suffer for Cinder's ends.

Haven had been instructive: Cinder and her entire organization did not care about the faunus. They were means to an end. The moment Adam had stopped being self-sufficient aid, he had been cast aside.

Humans who pretended to support the faunus cause only as long as they were useful were far worse than those who were outright bigots. The latter could be easily cut down. The former first had to be exposed.

Yes, Haven had indeed been instructive.

The thing about his anger was that, for as long as he could remember, it needed a target. That target could be broad—an entire race—or pinpoint. And, much like his semblance, it would build and build until he was either ready to unleash it or tearing at the seams trying to contain it. Inevitably, either on purpose or by necessity, it would erupt. Perhaps not explosively, perhaps not quickly, but there was no returning it quietly back to its place.

For years, his anger at Cinder had been a candle flame in the background of the raging fury he had directed at Blake. It had never been properly released. Now that Blake was still with him and he knew exactly how little Cinder cared for the faunus she had used like pawns, that tiny flame had become an inferno.

And it needed an out. Blood demanded blood.

"Tell me, Junior," he said, leaning forward once more. "How much do you know about Torchwick's operations?"


	3. Chapter 3

The TV clicked off. Without its noise, the conference room in the safehouse on the edge of Vale was silent. James and Fable said nothing, both of them turning to look at him while trying to be subtle about it. They weren't.

No one who didn't already know her would have been able to recognize her from that grainy dashcam footage, but he _did_ already know her. The changed clothes didn't matter; he knew how she moved and how she fought. He knew her weapon. There was no mistaking it.

He placed the remote on the table with careful calm, chest shaking as he forced himself to exhale slowly. He met his subordinates' gazes. "I need to make a call."

They nodded. He left the cramped room without another word, scroll already coming up to his ear. Every step he took in the stairwell echoed, and though there were plenty of Fang members occupying the safehouse and passing by him as he headed up, not one interrupted him on his way to the roof.

Voicemail. His scowl, though he didn't know when it had formed, deepened as he redialed. Eight rings, and then Blake's recorded voice came through again.

_"I'm not able to take a call right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to—"_

He hung up and stared down at his scroll. Why wasn't she answering? Her scroll wasn't dead, and she wasn't hanging up on him—it was ringing all the way through. It wasn't like he lacked service. He was in Vale. By all rights, he should have been having a far easier time contacting her than when he was moving through the terrain outside of the city.

The third attempt yielded the same results as the first two. He crushed the flutter of worry in his stomach, called a fourth time, and left a message. Despite his best efforts to come across as neutral, his voice came out terse, his syllables clipped. "Blake, call me. We need to meet."

Ending the call, he pocketed his scroll and ran a hand through his hair. He stared out at Vale and at Beacon far in the distance, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

Then he pulled out his scroll and sent a few follow-up text messages just to be safe.

* * *

Five _days_ later, Blake was able to meet him in a different out-of-the-way White Fang safehouse in the industrial district. When the door clicked closed behind her, he wasted no time on pleasantries they both knew would be fake. He tossed his scroll on the table in front of the ratty couch he had claimed. As it spun, it projected a holographic replay of the news footage. Lisa Lavender's voice filled the small room over shaky visuals of the paladin rampaging through the streets and one young woman in particular.

_"—a team of huntresses-in-training were able to foil the attack last night with—"_

The clip he'd ripped from the broadcast shut off, but its few seconds were damning.

"Care to explain?" he asked.

Blake stood across the table with her hands clasped behind her back like they were at a strategy meeting. She'd known what this would be about from the moment she'd seen his first missed call. "We were doing what we needed to do. Once Wei—once we found out that Torchwick had gotten his hands on a paladin, we had to act. He could put a lot of people in danger with that machine. As huntresses-in-training—" he scowled—"it's our duty to intervene."

There were bags under her eyes, and upon seeing them, his anger flickered—but the mere fact that it wavered made it surge anew.

"I told you to stay out of it," he snarled. She narrowed her eyes.

"There are people in danger, Adam. Lives at stake. I can't just put my head down and do nothing, and neither can my team."

"Yes, your team." He stood. "Your team with the _Schnee_."

Blake met his gaze, resolute. "We stopped Torchwick once. There's something serious happening here, and we've already gotten involved. We're not backing down now."

What a succinct avoidance of the issue. He stepped out from behind the table to give himself room to pace. "Blake—"

"This isn't about Weiss." His surprise at her interruption gave her the opening to keep going. "Yes, the SDC is a huge problem, and yes, she's the heiress. I _know_ , Adam. It's already come up.

"It's not the SDC that's stealing Dust and weapons. It's Torchwick and whoever he's working for. I bet it's the same person targeting you and the White Fang. I'm _not_ just going to stand by and do nothing."

Fine. Perhaps the Schnee wasn't the focus, but: "You have no idea what you're getting into."

"And you do?" She shook her head. "We're on the same side, Adam! Why are you trying to stop me?"

He jolted to a stop in front of her, incredulous. "I am trying to _protect_ you!"

"And I'm trying to protect Vale!"

They tried to stare each other down, but neither would give an inch. This time, there were no obvious signs of a weakness in her resolve: no favored injuries, no curled ears, no shaking hands.

He had seen this Blake before.

Perhaps she saw his resolve crack, because she straightened. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm before he could turn away in frustration.

"Adam, please. I'm trying to do the right thing."

So earnest, so determined, yet still trying to get him on her side even as he pushed to have her give this up. And, really, it was his own selfishness that pushed him so hard to keep her away from Torchwick and Cinder and all of that. That faction had destroyed him. The thought of the same happening to Blake when they were, despite everything, on good terms with each other—

It scared him. It genuinely scared him. He didn't want to lose her.

But she wasn't his to lose, and even this Blake was long past the point of blindly following his orders. He let his shoulders fall. "I won't convince you otherwise, will I?"

Her expression was all the answer he needed. The remnants of his anger flickered out, and he sighed. "I don't like it when you put yourself in danger like this."

She bit her lip, but then her expression hardened. "I have to do it."

"I know." After collecting his scroll from the table, he fell back onto the couch and tried to lighten the mood. "The next time you go and risk your life, could you at least send me a message first?"

His attempt worked. Blake took a seat across from him, a guarded smile playing over her lips. "Only if you do too."

They talked for a while about a variety of nothings. Beacon was still a strange place and the White Fang was still carrying out attacks to get their message out. The topic of the activists came up, and Blake revealed that she no longer had to act as a go-between; the Vale White Fang squads had established direct communication with the protestors. That was nice and explained why Adam had received far fewer messages about that, but it also meant that Adam didn't fully understand why Blake looked so worn down.

Perhaps it was the stress of taking on Torchwick. In the White Fang, with these kinds of conflicts, she had always known she had an army at her back. Now, it was her and three teenage girls. Unofficially, she still had the army, but it wasn't the same.

After they said their goodbyes and Blake was gone, Adam stared at the closed door. If she truly was going to remain caught up in this, then he needed to draw heat away from her.

It was time to step things up.

* * *

Just over a week later, he found himself planting explosives in the latest hideout of Torchwick's forces. This one was a large townhouse near the industrial district. It was simply a place for the remaining gang members in Vale to congregate, but with the fear he'd been sowing, they had begun stockpiling weapons and other supplies in it as well. He took a few Dust vials while he was inside; no sense in them going to waste, and in his one-man war against Torchwick, he'd been burning through ammunition far more rapidly than normal.

With the gang members entirely unaware of his presence, he slipped out onto the roof and leaped across the narrow street, trusting his own speed and civilians' inability to look up to keep him hidden from the few people wandering around below.

The house he landed on had a steep roof, which provided the perfect cover when he slid over and leaned against the opposite side. They thought themselves safe in the daytime; this attack would destroy their last hint of security. He pulled out the detonator, only to pause when his scroll vibrated. He had told James and Fable not to contact him unless it was an emergency.

Frowning, he pulled out his scroll and examined the message. It wasn't from his subordinates. It was from Blake.

_Going on mission to the southeast. Be back soon. Please don't worry._

He stared at the screen, speechless. There was only one place in the southeast worth going to. All those sleepless nights spent throwing himself against Torchwick's goons, wreaking havoc across the other gangs under his control, sabotaging supply convoys, tearing apart hidden warehouses, and leaving obvious sign after obvious sign for Blake to follow, and what did she do?

Jump over all of that to strike at the heart. And she didn't even _know_ she was doing it!

No, that wasn't right. He must have missed something. Some event that pointed her stubborn sense of justice back at Mountain Glenn instead of the idiots he'd been throwing across her path in Vale.

Bottling his frustration, he let rational thought take over. Stopping Blake from going to Mountain Glenn without exposing or destroying everything he had worked for was impossible. She was going whether he liked it or not. He couldn't do nothing; the chances of the Breach still happening were too high. What could he do? Send the Fang there? No, he couldn't sacrifice his comrades to Mountain Glenn's ruthless terrain. The Grimm were dangerous, the sinkholes and whatever forces Cinder had gathered there more so. He would need to go alone. He wouldn't need an army at his back if he used the element of surprise. Besides, Cinder's faction was his fight, not the Fang's.

He slid down the other side of the roof to get completely out of sight and dialed the number he had unwillingly committed to memory years ago. He made sure it was voice only. The line rang three times.

_"Who is this?"_

He let all of his disdain flow freely. "I hear you've been looking for me."

For a second, she didn't recognize him, but there were only so many people who fit that description. He could almost hear the condescending yet teasing smile in her voice. _"You killed my messengers, Adam Taurus."_

"You should have known better than to send humans."

_"Perhaps."_

"I'll entertain you once to stop these pointless attacks. I will be in the area of Mountain Glenn shortly. I trust that's far enough from prying eyes and Atlesian air fleets for you."

Her end was silent for a moment. Then, _"I have quite a busy schedule. One of my associates—"_

"No," he cut in. "I don't deal with errand boys."

Another beat. _"Very well."_

A smirk threatened to curl his lips. "I'll send you the details."

He ended the call and let the smirk break through. If he was going to go to Mountain Glenn, then he might as well be efficient about it. Stopping the Breach and Cinder simultaneously was just being thorough. And, if Cinder somehow avoided death at his hands, having her get captured by a team of teenagers would be humiliating enough for her to make up for it.

He would enjoy watching Cinder witness all of her plans wilt into nothing.

Almost as an afterthought, he flicked open the detonator's cover and pressed the button. For an instant, the day's peace held. Then the shockwave blasted out windows for a block in every direction and smoke billowed into the sky. Car alarms blared over the sound of breaking glass. Screams punctuated the destruction.

He slipped the detonator into his jacket and dropped down to street level, his simple hood and blindfold rendering him anonymous in the panicked crowd.

His focus, though, was far from Vale.

* * *

James was not thrilled by the prospect of Adam taking some unexplained "personal time" away from the White Fang without warning, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Leaving him and Fable in charge for the next couple of days, Adam packed light and headed for Mountain Glenn. Traveling solo, the trip took him most of the day. By the time he had slipped his way into the underground tunnels that crawled beneath the city, it was past dark.

He had not yet received communication from Cinder about her arrival in the ruined city, nor had he seen any sign of her on his approach. Sabotaging the train would have to come first. He could always find her later.

His entrance to the subterranean city spat him out far from any hostile presence. His nose wrinkled at the stale air that was paradoxically prickling with the myriad smells of charged Dust. It was practically a buzz along his skin, the same sense of an approaching storm that was inevitable on any mission involving massive amounts of Dust. His jaw clenched. This disconcerting electricity, particularly underground, was never a feeling he had enjoyed. Not in his youth and not now.

As he slipped through alleys and empty buildings in the massive cavern, he was struck by how similar it looked to what he had seen in the original timeline. Back then, he had spent as little time as possible in Mountain Glenn; setting up the train had been James's responsibility. Adam's focus had been more on rallying and gathering their forces in and around Vale in preparation for the final assault. Still, his two trips here had made enough of an impression that, as he peered out of a second-story window at the train tracks splitting the cavern in two below, he felt unease stirring in the pit of his stomach. Though there were a couple cars separated from the rest and a few scattered collections of Dust not yet loaded, the train was all but ready. With far fewer cars than he remembered, but ready.

For all his many irritating faults, Torchwick ran a tight ship. And, speaking of the man, Adam caught a flash of his orange hair from within one of the separated cars. Good; he was distracted. There was a concerning amount of open ground between the nearest building and the train's engine car, but if he took out the sentries patrolling the rooftops nearby, he could make it undetected.

He stepped away from the window and examined his surroundings. He was in what had probably been meant to be an apartment complex, but it was unfinished. Awash in grays and shadows from little ambient light save what Torchwick's forces had set up, it was coated in Dust and slowly failing under the inexorable influence of time. The cracking floors were missing interior walls and the elevator was nonfunctional and on the wrong floor besides, but the stairs would serve.

The hinges on the door to the roof were visibly rusting. He paused on the top step and focused his hearing. Beyond the door, two sets of footsteps ambled across the roof. They came close to the door and he tensed, ready, but the two guards' voices stayed his hand as they turned and wandered away.

"Hey, looks like Rodney and Keyes found someone."

Someone? Who else was here? Unless…

"Yeah? Who?"

The scuff of a boot against stone. "Dunno. Looks like some kid. The hell's a kid doing here?"

A kid? Not Blake, then.

"The hell're _we_ doing here, man? This place sucks."

"Hm."

"Look, it's not our business to guess what the boss is up to."

"Looks like he knows her."

"Good for him. Stop staring before he notices. You want to get us booted to Dust duty again? I'm not losing another finger 'cause of you."

If not Blake, then who?

"I've already said sorry."

" _Sorry_ isn't gonna un-explode the crystal you tossed at me. I said _stop staring_."

"Hey!"

"Go look over there and actually do your job, got it? Maybe the kid's got friends."

His thumb pushed Wilt a half-inch out of its sheath. The scouts were not going to provide the answers he wanted.

"What're they gonna do, drop through the ceiling?"

Adam didn't drop through the ceiling, but he had the element of surprise either way. By the time the goons had processed the sound of the door's hinges squealing open and the door itself banging against the wall behind it, Adam had floored one by firing Wilt into the back of his head and taken out the second with a vicious spinning kick that bounced the goon's temple off the raised stone railing that ringed the roof.

He casually caught Wilt before it could hit the ground, slashed the stunned goons' throats with it, and then sheathed it. The other lookouts scattered across the nearby rooftops were too distracted by the scene of Torchwick kicking around the child below to notice their allies going down.

His eyes narrowed behind his mask. The kid. Though he didn't recall interacting with her in person, he had been told about a young woman partial to red capes. Even as he connected the dots, however, distant explosions rocked the cave. Oranges and reds bloomed on the other end of the block, lighting up the whole cavern and launching a small contingent of goons out into plain view. More explosions followed—explosive Dust shells. At this distance, Adam had to strain to make out details of the colorful group that rounded the corner, but the practically glowing mane of golden hair made recognition easy.

Swiftly backing away from the edge of the roof to avoid being spotted, he still managed to catch sight of Torchwick bailing on his detached car and making a beeline for the front of the train.

With Blake's team providing the perfect distraction, he headed for the side of the building overlooking the alley separating it from its neighbor. Planting a gloved hand on the railing, he vaulted over the edge of the roof, dug Wilt into the building's face, and let gravity pull him down while Wilt slowed his rapid descent into something manageable. Shards of concrete rained down alongside him, pinging off his mask and horns and scattering in the narrow alley below. Two stories up, he yanked Wilt free and fell the rest of the way. He hit the ground with a roll, aura taking the impact, and spared an instant to orient himself before sprinting into the open.

It took only moments for some of the goons, on high alert because of the newcomers, to notice him. They shouted, and an instant later, gunshots began tearing up the ground around his feet. He deflected any gunfire that got too close and cut down any grunts foolish enough to try to block his way. Most of them didn't even have aura, and those that did lost it in a single blow.

He was twenty yards from the train. Torchwick was already jumping inside. Snarling, Adam focused more aura over his legs, ignored how it made his muscles ache, and pushed his body to its limits. He slipped inside just before the heavy metal door to the car slid shut.

The engine car was as wide as the cargo cars it towed, but not as long. Torchwick and a goon were at the front, back to the door. As Adam straightened, catching his breath, Torchwick grabbed a radio.

"Get to your places, we are leaving now!" Tossing the radio back onto its hook, he glanced at the goon. "You, make sure those paladins are up and running. I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that Red and her merry men don't know when to give up."

The goon, instead of giving an affirmative, crumpled to the ground, his blood splattering across the floor. Adam stood just to the side of where his body fell, Wilt reflecting just a little more light than its surroundings should have allowed. "You have more pressing concerns."

Torchwick turned, already rolling his eyes. "Oh, for the love of—"

Adam unleashed his semblance before Torchwick could finish, cutting through his aura and knocking him out cold. Torchwick's cane clattered to the metal floor, bottom flipping closed again. Strangely, his attack hadn't cut through Torchwick the way it normally did anyone else. While it had still been enough to take the crime boss down, it hadn't killed him. A brief examination revealed that Torchwick's coat had resisted the slash and kept it from being fatal. The inner lining was Dust.

Cheap tricks.

Shoving Torchwick's unconscious body aside with his foot, he focused on the console. Returning the lever Torchwick had just pulled to its original position did nothing. He knew very little about how to operate a train like this; where was the manual override? The readouts might as well have been in a different language.

He pushed a button that seemed promising, only to hear the grind of metal on metal that was certainly not related to the train starting up. Turning, he saw the doors between this car and the one immediately behind it sliding open. Two confused goons stood in the car beyond. Upon seeing Torchwick laid out behind him, they opened fire. Automatic weapons; though Adam whirled Wilt, several of their shots got through and hit his aura with bruising force. Adam dove forward and to the side, rolling to come up with his back against the wall to the left of the doorway. He slowed his breathing, counted to two, and then stepped back into the firing lane.

One bandit had been trying to approach silently and catch him off guard. Within range, he was helpless against Wilt's bleeding edge. Adam kicked his falling body back into his partner's, then finished off that partner with a final shot from Blush. They were both dead when they hit the ground.

He waited for a second, but the door at the other end of the Dust-filled car remained closed. Returning to the console, he was just as unable to find a solution as before. Torchwick had hardwired the startup sequence. Once initiated, there was no stopping it. Machinery that had been groaning and shifting ever since Torchwick pulled that damned lever began to shake the floor.

There was no stopping the train. Adam slammed a fist into the console, drawing sparks, and whirled. Something. There had to be something.

His gaze landed on the Dust crates piled high in the next car. Some of it Schnee, some of it unmarked. The fruits of Torchwick's labors in Vale over the last several months. All that stolen Dust…all that stolen Dust meant to blow open a path into Vale. All that stolen, undefended, _volatile_ Dust that was making the air itself seem charged from its sheer quantity.

He almost laughed.

How did he stop the unstoppable train? Easy. Remove the train from the equation entirely. It was almost poetic; this train, where it all started, would be where it ended. He was even using the same plan, though the cars that had originally suffered it were now missing. He was just finishing the job. Loading an explosive cartridge into Blush, he raised it—

His scroll vibrated. Blake?

It was not Blake's number that flashed on the screen. It was far better than that. Satisfaction curled in his stomach. It was a shame that he hadn't had the chance to attack her directly, but life was full of small disappointments. Preventing the Breach while he was right under her and she was utterly powerless to stop him would easily make up for it.

The reception was too poor for video, but voice was all he needed.

"Cinder Fall," he almost purred. "It seems we weren't able to connect like we planned."

_"Adam Taurus."_ Though the call quality was spotty, her words still came through. _"I trust you have a reason for failing to show at our meeting. I'd hate for this to be a wasted trip."_

"It won't be. I'm sure you've heard of someone interfering in Torchwick's Vale operations by now."

Even through the static, he could hear her voice lose its sultry edge in favor of something harder. _"And you're claiming to have information on this someone?"_

"More than that." He couldn't stop his grin from showing even as the train finally lurched into motion. "You see, Cinder, I don't appreciate a human encroaching on my territory. Take this train, for example. By all rights, it should belong to me. I was the one to take it. And yet it's here, being loaded and run by humans. I find that…strange."

He savored the anger that came crackling through the speakers. _"I suggest you consider placing your allegiances carefully before you do something all of your people will regret."_

Chuckling, he sighted down Blush. The nearest Schnee snowflake came into perfect focus. "This isn't about the faunus."

_"Then what, exactly?"_

"Revenge."

He pulled the trigger.


	4. Chapter 4

The explosion was a series of impressions: blinding light, searing heat, weightlessness. The shock of his aura breaking. A roar so loud it left his ears ringing. Blood in his mouth. A sharp bit of rubble digging into his back.

Breathing hurt. Every inhale coated his lungs in smoke and left him coughing. Flashes of light through the haze in the air showed pockets of Dust thrown high by the initial blast still igniting. They were the only sources of light outside the weak moonlight filtering through massive new hole in the ceiling.

He tried to move, but his body wouldn't listen. The ringing in his ears wouldn't stop, and the blood in his mouth was slowly but surely pooling in his throat. His eyes fell closed, and for a while, he drifted.

Heat yanked him awake.

"Get. _Up_."

Cinder Fall stood over him, fury radiating off her skin in rippling waves. Her eyes glowed from it.

This was so much better than his petty victory in Forever Fall. He coughed, then grinned with bloodied teeth and found his voice. "What's wrong? Did someone ruin your perfect little plan?"

Her light flared. The heat washed over his skin without any aura to shield him from it. "As much as I would enjoy seeing you reduced to ashes," she snarled, "there is someone else who wants to speak with you first."

As she reached down to grab him, he dredged up the will to snap Wilt from its sheath. The weapon was blasted out of his hand.

In his other hand, Blush barked. Cinder's head snapped back from the force of the explosive round, aura crackling. In the same instant, she loosed a glass dagger that ripped the gun from his weakened grip.

She recovered her balance and looked back down at him, fury multiplied tenfold. His vision went red, then orange, then white—and then black.

* * *

He regained consciousness while being dragged through the streets by an arm. Worn asphalt scraped against his pants. Parts of the fabric had already been torn through, leaving the skin underneath raw and bleeding. A spotty trail of blood traced his path. His weapons were gone.

Judging by the cave ceiling overhead and the lingering smell of ozone from the detonated Dust, he was still relatively close to where he'd set off the explosion. He couldn't hear or see anyone other than Cinder, whose grip on his wrist felt like a hot iron burning into his skin.

Before he could begin to struggle, the doorway of a warehouse passed overhead, and Cinder's steps began to echo within the massive room beyond. Asphalt shifted to smooth concrete coated in a thick layer of dust. Just to his left, he could see other tracks: seven thin lines all in parallel to each other. Two of the lines were twice as thick as the rest.

Cinder's grip tightened, and then, with a grunt, she threw him deep into the warehouse. He skidded across the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust that left him coughing. Blood from the split lip his earlier grin had cracked open anew flecked the ground as he got his hands and knees under him.

Clicking.

He tensed, raising his gaze from the floor to the darkness that coated the back of the warehouse like a film. Within those shadows bobbed a single yellow lantern. That lantern floated closer and closer, and as it did, he realized it was not a lantern at all. The light emanated from a dark sphere. White plates concentrated on its lowest third partially covered its surface. Teeth extended up and down from its pulsating base, and seven blood-red tentacles drifted hairs above the ground, leaving trails in the dust.

As it grew close, it clicked again. The yellow light faded into swirling red mist. Within that mist, the shadows of a woman's features.

He staggered to his feet, putting a few more steps between himself and the Grimm. Cinder was silent, holding her post by the door. Her shadow stretched far across the floor, a constant reminder of her presence. Even if he somehow fought the Grimm with neither aura nor weapons, she would be there to put him down the instant he tasted victory.

Movement. One of the tentacles whipped out and ripped the mask from his face. Before he could even process that, a second tentacle punched through his chest. A grunt of surprise escaped him. It hadn't gone all the way through, but the creeping cold he knew all too well began to spread from where it was lodged just below his sternum.

Unable to find the strength to bring his hands up and pull it out, he traced its barb all the way back to the body. But the Grimm was no longer there. Where it had been was instead a woman. No, not a woman. A creature in a woman's shape.

Her form-fitting black dress with its cape-like sleeves couldn't hide her grotesque skin. White as bleached bone, it revealed a lattice of purplish-black veins that throbbed just beneath the surface and burrowed deep into her flesh. Those veins even crawled over her face, where black and crimson eyes stared down at him with the malice of ages resting behind them. Her white hair, pulled up and styled like a spider's limbs with black ornaments, was the only remotely human thing about her.

But she wasn't human. She wasn't even faunus.

As she came closer, something deeper than conscious thought drained the blood from his face. It was something primal, something visceral, that rose up from his bones to swallow any strength he thought he had. All that remained was a web of horror that left him shaking.

Unable to stay standing, he fell to his knees. She seemed to pulse in time to his heartbeat, and a shroud of darkness around her reached farther and farther with each passing moment until the warehouse was gone and all he could see was her.

"I wanted to see for myself what could be interfering so successfully in our plans." Her voice lacked warmth of any kind. Though smooth, it was detached, clinical. "I believed you would merely be one of Ozpin's pawns that managed to avoid my notice until now.

"But you," she came closer still, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. "What are you?"

He strained to lean away from her, but his body wouldn't listen.

"There is something strange about your aura that I have never seen before. Something out of sync with this world."

Her cold fingertips traced the edge of his face, stopping under his chin. "What could you have done to create an effect like that?" She frowned. "This is a question that requires an answer."

It wasn't fear that held his tongue; it was his shredded pride. Human or abomination, it didn't matter. He bowed to no one.

Seeing his stubbornness, the woman sighed and stood straight once more. "Very well. I will find it myself."

The darkness began to lighten. At first, his new surroundings were too hazy to make out. When they began to resolve themselves, however, the blood in his veins turned to ice. He knew these ramshackle buildings, these rusting warehouses, that barren hill.

"What is this?" he choked out.

The woman glanced at him. "Your memories. Evidently, important ones."

More details bled through the shadows: puddles on the muddy ground, a sky dark and heavy with storm, faint voices.

And a child crouched between buildings three feet away. Covered in mud and grime, his red hair couldn't hide the tiny horns poking out from his skull.

The voices grew louder. A name. They were shouting a name.

_His_ name. With each repetition, the child, his child self, flinched, curling tighter upon himself as though he could disappear through desperation alone.

_"There you are."_

A man clothed in a bright, bright red vest who hadn't been there before yanked him from the alley. Lightning split the sky, and thunder rumbled.

_"I told you to get back to work."_

His past self's words came out lisping through the gap in his teeth. _"B-but the 'splosion—"_

_"That isn't your concern. Your concern is the Dust that remains in that mineshaft."_

_"Dad said I'm s'posed to run if there's a 'splosion—"_

_"Not another word, you little rat. Remember who feeds and clothes your pathetic hide."_ He shoved him towards the cave entrance at the bottom of the hill. _"Work."_

"Hm." The woman waved a hand. The scene washed away like streaked paint before settling on his child self looking up at his father. His father's face was blurry in the mine's lamplight, his features indistinct. The only solid thing about him was the pair of curling horns jutting out from his auburn hair.

_"He sent you to_ what _?"_ His father's voice rumbled through the cave. All the other miners slowed to a halt. _"That shaft is far too unstable, I_ told _him—"_

Another wave of her hand. They were back outside, where the thunderstorm had arrived in full force. Rain lashed the buildings and hammered against their tin and aluminum roofs. A mob of blurry faces stood off against the supervisor and his guards, who swept their guns along the ranks of miners in warning.

Time skipped again. He caught snippets: the supervisor seeing him at the front; his parents trying to shield him; him, dragged screaming from his parents as guards held them down.

The world narrowed, his memories losing track of all but single targets. A dark room. Someone's voice.

_"Sir, I know what they did, but…he's just a kid."_

The mesmerizing glow of heated metal in a sea of black.

White eyes reflecting the red, red light.

_"All the more reason."_

Screaming.

His scar burned with remembered agony.

When the world came back into focus, he was being tossed back towards his parents. His child self rolled in the dirt, barely conscious. His mother cried out, rushing towards him. His father quivered with rage. As his awareness flickered, so too did the world, but the supervisor's voice was as clear as the first time he'd heard it:

_"I hope seeing the consequences of your own actions every morning makes you animals remember your place."_

With each disinterested twitch of the woman's fingers, time jumped forward to a different moment. His parents finding a way out of the camp. Them getting caught halfway through. His father falling in an effort to buy time. His mother pushing him the last of the way through the tunnel before collapsing it on herself.

He knew, in a vague, numb kind of way, that he should be horrified, but he couldn't bring anything to bear. Not horror, not fear, not even rage. It all suffocated under the woman's influence.

She passed over his wanderings through the forests and his formative years with the White Fang. Months slipped by in seconds. His head ached. He could barely breathe; there was pressure on his chest like a vice slowly closing.

And then it all stopped. He dragged his eyes up to focus on what had gotten the woman's attention.

Cinder. Cinder and her two lackeys, bowing before him and asking for support.

"Adam?" Blake's muffled voice, separate from the memory, barely registered through the fog in his mind.

"It seems we have an intruder," the woman said, frowning lightly. She turned to look beyond the cloudy boundary between vision and reality. "Cinder, if you would."

The real Cinder's hands ignited. "Gladly."

"Adam!" Blake's voice, louder now as she entered the warehouse, reverberated through the scene. He strained to turn his head so he could see where Blake was desperately holding off Cinder's ambush with her weak aura moments from breaking.

Her arrival had weakened the woman's hold, and as Blush skittered across the warehouse floor towards him, he didn't question how it got there. He reached out, right hand wrapping around Blush's trigger, lifting it, aiming to fire Wilt—

"Is it all of you?" the woman wondered, turning a considering gaze back on Adam for just a moment. "Or is it you alone?" Her eyes narrowed, and his arm fell limp back to his side.

With a flick of her wrist, another one of the Grimm's barbed tentacles whipped out, only visible beyond the boundary between worlds. Adam's hoarse cry stayed locked in his throat. Blake, distracted by Cinder's endless barrage of fire and glass weapons, never even saw it coming. Cinder's attacks evaporated into sparks as Blake's weapon fell from her hands. Blake collapsed onto her knees with glassy eyes.

The air in the dream world next to him warped and twisted as it dragged Blake through. Her face was bloodied and scorched, her clothes burned. In the same position as him, her head locked in place, she looked around in desperate fear until her eyes found his own. He could see her trying to speak, to move. As she realized all she could do was move her eyes, panic set in.

The pale woman strode over to Blake and knelt in front of her. She used two fingers to tip Blake's chin up. Blake trembled, unable to run, unable to fight.

"Another faunus." The woman turned Blake's head from side to side, then stood. "It seems you're not the same."

She returned her chilling attention to him. "What is it about you, I wonder?" She paused, examining the memory around them. "We must not be far enough."

The entire train mission barely spanned ten seconds. Despite that, his and Blake's voices lingered in the air.

_"What about the crew members?"_

_"What about them?"_

There was the second Cinder meeting, this one costing him tens of his soldiers' lives, but after that, the scenes shuffled past too quickly to process. A headache pounded behind his eyes but closing them did nothing. The scenery shifted from forest to city, to a TV broadcast of the Breach, but as soon as he had recognized that, the woman had frozen time once more.

Yang, still tumbling down. Her arm, just severed but already breaking apart into petals. Blake on her knees, frozen with her mouth open and tears on her cheeks. Him, blade extended, the glow of his semblance not yet faded.

"You used to be an ally," the woman noted, examining his cold frown with a critical eye. "Something changed your mind this time. What was it?"

In one instant, Wilt was tearing through Yang's arm. The next, Blake's neck—only for her clone to fade away and their surroundings to melt into that nauseating meld of dozens of memories at once. He didn't dare let his gaze shift right. He didn't want to know what Blake was thinking. Didn't want to see the pain in her eyes.

Sinnea fell to his blade and no amount of numbness could hide the shame that threatened to overwhelm all else, shame that only multiplied when he attempted to make unwilling martyrs of all his people at Haven.

Blake, the old Blake, stood just a few yards away, staring down his past self with a revolution at her back. Then the world smeared again, and the dead of night brightened to near white as the woman flipped through his many days spent trailing Blake through the bitter cold to Argus.

Argus. All-consuming horror bloomed in his stomach separate from the shame and the dull pain of having all of his worst mistakes played out again right in front of him. The woman noticed and slowed time accordingly.

"It seems we're getting close to the source of your presence here."

He watched himself slaughter the relay tower workers and then lie in wait for Blake. He watched himself taunt her, toy with her, until she kicked them both over the edge.

She begged him to stop. He threw it back in her face.

Watching himself like this, he couldn't ignore his own blindness. At every opportunity to stop, to talk, to turn back and face the demons chasing his shadow, he found some new excuse to keep pressing forward, some new way to blame Blake for what he himself had wrought.

And, inevitably, the fight moved to the waterfall. Inevitably, he played with Blake's life. Inevitably, _Yang_ showed up.

In their standoff, he was crouched low, surveying the two with predatory calculation, trying to find in them the weakness he refused to see in in himself.

That façade of cocky control was hollow. It was so obvious, but in his memories, he had thought himself perfectly calm. Certainly more calculating than his opponents with the way he had immediately picked up on Yang's trembling hand. Yet that observation came almost _too_ quickly, like he'd been searching for it or for any sign at all that he had the advantage.

Had he really looked so manic? So unhinged? So…so desperate?

His past self's taunts carried over the crashing of the waterfall. At the mention of Yang's fate at Beacon, he felt more than saw Blake flinch next to him.

He would not—no, he _could not_ look at her.

The fight progressed. Bored by the combat, the woman flipped through it like a picture book. All three of them skipped around the bridge like stop-motion figures until Blake landed that final punch. From there, it played out as normal.

Although he saw the blades driving towards his torso and knew how it ended, he found himself unable to look away. His whole body flinched when they stabbed him, and his chest ached with the pain he had felt only for an instant before the numbness washed it all away.

His past self, exhausted, beaten, broken, staggered to the edge and dropped to his knees. He was looking up, though at what, he didn't know.

The woman snapped her fingers, and suddenly they were hovering midway down the waterfall, splitting the difference of the rock bridge above and the water below. His gaze turned skyward in time to see himself tip over the edge. He hurtled towards the rocks. Slammed into them with a crunch. Flipped and spun. Hit water.

Time stopped. His body was only half-submerged, his eyes still open, his awareness still barely there, but the air was distorted. It wasn't the woman's doing; it was part of the memory itself.

"I see." The pale woman's voice echoed without any clear source. "A tear in the space-time continuum allowed your consciousness to pass through. How interesting. Perhaps such an event could be replicated."

Everything rewound in a nauseating blur until he was looking back at himself kneeling on the edge of the bridge.

"Is it the location?"

He fell again. Hit the rock again. The _sound_ of it—

"Hm."

Again.

"Yet your body was not transferred. Only your consciousness. Curious."

Again. Again, again, and again. Closing his eyes did nothing. There was bile in his throat, but he didn't even have enough strength to throw up. All he could do was kneel and watch as his body broke over and over and over and _over_ —

He tore his eyes away from the grisly scene, but Blake offered no relief. Her ears were flat against her head, her eyes were wide, and tears streamed down her face.

He had no way to tell her to look away. He couldn't, he reflected bitterly as he was inexorably drawn back by the _sound_ , even manage it himself. He barely heard the woman as she continued her musings. Far louder was the endless cycle of his body breaking.

Louder still was the wall exploding. The dream world turned hazy, the air momentarily shifting to red mist before clearing again. He caught a glimpse beyond the boundary of the real Yang pushing back a surprised Cinder. The snake quickly rallied, but as she did, Yang smirked.

"Sorry, I'm just the distraction."

More figures plunged to the ground from the skylights overhead, bringing with them a rain of broken glass. Two—one white, one green—faced off against Cinder. The former of the duo raised her rapier, and with it, a massive wall of ice that cut Cinder off from the other two now making a beeline for Blake.

The pale woman narrowed her eyes at the approaching teenagers. She glanced down at Adam. "This will have to wait."

Like a retreating storm, she and her darkness pulled back. Reality drowned the dream realm, and the floating Grimm replaced the woman once more. As the last of her presence retreated, the Grimm that had hosted her let out a piercing screech. Tossing Adam and Blake aside like dolls, its freed tentacles lashed out at the new targets.

He hit the wall hard enough to get the breath knocked out of him and landed on his side. Blush clattered against the ground next to him. Blake landed a few feet away. He couldn't speak and neither could she, but with the cracks of gunfire and cries echoing around the warehouse seeming far away, he didn't care.

They both reached out. Trembling fingers laced together, and they squeezed in a silent signal that they were both okay. Relief filled Blake's expression, relief that was mirrored on his own.

They were okay.

Glass arrows shattered against the wall overhead. A fireball hit a second later. The fight against Cinder was still raging on, and it had already destroyed most of the ice wall.

As he turned his eye towards the Grimm, he saw the child slice it in two with her oversized scythe. It let out one last dying shriek and broke up into putrid mist.

"Blake!" the short one yelled, turning towards them. "Are you okay?"

Blake's fingers pulled away from his own as she tried to push herself up onto her knees. "Ruby—"

The last of the ice wall shattered. Behind it, the warehouse was in ruins: scorched and scarred, riddled with the aftereffects of a myriad of Dust types. There was no sign of Cinder, but her two opponents swiftly turned to join Yang and the child in their hurried dash to Blake's side.

They surrounded Blake, but as the green-haired man dealt with her injuries, the child in the cloak with the scythe—Ruby, by Blake's descriptions—pursed her lips and kept glancing around the warehouse like she expected more Grimm to come crawling out of the dark. "So, did anyone else see that lady in the Grimm, or was that just me?"

"I saw her too," Yang said, raising her hand. This close, he could make out far more details. She was, without a doubt, _not_ the same woman he had faced down in front of the falls. Younger, for one. And this one still had both arms. "White skin, black…were those veins?"

Ruby shivered, finally giving up her vigil and stowing her weapon. "She was creepy."

"Never mind that," the Schnee interrupted, helping Blake stand and making a show of brushing dust off her clothes. "You don't just take off alone like that after finding some weapons in the rubble. This place is dangerous!"

The Schnee.

_The Schnee._

Though it was conscious thought that had him wrap his hand around Blush, it was reflex that drove him to his feet with Wilt thrusting towards her throat, and it was reflex again that stopped him when Blake cried his name. Everything froze: him, the Schnee, Blake's team, the professor. Only Blake moved as her shoulders fell in relief.

Where exhaustion had threatened to pull him under before, now fury blazed in its wake. This was the Schnee heiress, the one set to inherit the entire company from her disgrace of a father, and Blake was _stopping him_. His eyes cut to her, a demand for answers burning within.

"Please," she said, holding both hands up. Placating him. Calming him. Like he was some _animal_.

"I don't think you understand how often I used to dream of this moment," he said. Sure, it was the immature heiress and not Jacques Schnee himself, but she would serve. She tried to step back, but he angled himself to put the wall behind her. Seeing Blake's teammates and the professor start to move, he pushed the Schnee back harder against the wall. "Don't interfere."

Blake slowly shuffled closer to the Schnee. "We talked about this, Adam."

"Words." Her aura flickered white under Wilt's edge, and he enjoyed how she strained to avoid Wilt's edge.

"She's helping. It's not necessary."

"I disagree."

Doing a poor job of hiding her desperation, Blake cast around for anything she could say to sway him from what had to be done. She settled on something absurd. "The Adam I know wouldn't do this."

He ground his teeth. "You saw exactly what I would do."

"Then you're not that man anymore! Killing her doesn't accomplish anything. You'll just be hunted for it, and then you won't be able to help anyone. Please, the faunus need who you are _now_ , not the monster you became!"

Monster. _Monster_. A laugh built in his chest, growing and growing until he couldn't hold it back any longer. It spilled out over his lips, turning the air even colder. "Who I am now," he repeated. "Don't you see, Blake? I'm the same person from those memories. _I_ am the one who caused the Breach, who destroyed Beacon, who attempted to slaughter my own people at Haven, who betrayed Sienna, who killed anyone who questioned my orders. I'm the one you put down like a _dog_."

She flinched.

"Do not think that you can separate who I was and who I am." Bitter mirth depleted, he refocused on the Schnee. Wilt's glowing tip pressed harder against her weakened aura. She swallowed, terrified but knowing that the instant she tried to get away, he would slit her throat.

Blake stepped closer, heedless of the way his semblance's glow grew brighter in warning. "You're not." There was steel in her eyes that made him hesitate, and he scowled.

"Are you blind?" he snarled. The Schnee whimpered.

"You haven't done any of those things here." She swallowed, gaze switching between his good eye and the scar. "Beacon never fell. Haven never happened. That...that fight at the falls never happened. Here, you didn't kill the crew members on the train. You let them live. You helped me step away from White Fang. You've helped make sure that the peaceful protests in Vale stay that way. You came _here_."

"I came here for revenge."

"Maybe. But you protected Vale too. You protected _us_. All of that counts for something, Adam." He didn't move, but Blake inched another step forward. "Everything you've done with this second chance counts for something."

She had seen everything. He had borne witness to the pain she felt seeing him turn his back on all that she believed him to be. There was no denying the horror she had felt, and yet still she talked to him so softly.

"Don't pretend to me like you're not horrified by what I've done."

"You didn't kill the crew members on the train," she repeated. "You helped the faunus of Vale protest safely. You've changed."

Wilt dipped at the familiar refrain.

"And it's for the better."

He tightened his grip, bringing Wilt back up before the Schnee could get any ideas. To throw this chance away—"This is about the faunus, not me. The Schnees are unforgivable."

"It's not about forgiveness."

The Schnee frowned but wiped her face clear when she saw him notice. Blake stepped even closer, drawing his eye back to her.

"Weiss isn't her company. She has her faults and she's far from a perfect ally, but she's trying." He couldn't look away from her imploring gaze. "And she's my friend."

The Schnee's eyes went wide.

"Please." Blake reached out, wrapping her hand around his. She began to apply pressure. At first, he resisted. This was a Schnee. It didn't matter if she was Blake's friend or if she claimed to be better than her father. It was her company, her family, who condoned the brutalization and the degradation of the faunus. Her family who—

Who had allowed him to be branded.

_"Then this isn't about revolution. It's about revenge."_

Slowly, so slowly, he allowed her to push Wilt down. He found that he didn't really have the strength to stop her.

His gaze fell to his sword. His sword, the conduit for his semblance and for his rage, was utterly free of Schnee blood despite the heiress standing directly in front of him. It was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. Every part of him raged against letting her live.

Every part except one. He looked to Blake, and that part found the strength to stand up to the rest. "You understand what you're defending."

She nodded. "She can be on our side, Adam. Changing the SDC without bloodshed. All of it, even the places we don't know about or can't reach. A revolution from the inside. Imagine it."

He wanted to believe in her. He wanted to believe in her the way she believed in him.

"That scar."

The Schnee's voice nearly drew Wilt back up to her throat. His whole arm twitched, but Blake's presence kept him still.

"That's a Schnee Dust Company logo, isn't it?"

His lips curled back into a snarl. "Tread carefully."

She shuffled along the wall to put a little more distance between them but tried to play it off like she was just trying to get some of the dust off her outfit. "I…don't mean to offend. I've simply never seen anything…anything like it, before."

"Sheltered from the horrors of your company. How shocking."

Despite his derision, the Schnee's surprise over his branding was a sign that Blake's hopes might not be placed in vain. A complicit heiress was worth killing; an ignorant one…not long ago, he would have said she deserved the same fate, but he had chosen to follow Blake's lead. If she truly believed that the Schnee deserved a chance to change, then he would not stand in her way. After all, if he, with all of his atrocities, was still deemed worthy of another try, then even someone as tainted as Weiss Schnee could have a chance of her own. And should Blake's hopes be misplaced, he could see that the Schnee was dealt with accordingly.

Though it defied all instinct, he sheathed Wilt. If he kept it out, no amount of assurances from Blake or his own logic would stop those instincts from taking over. And, perhaps if the weapon was put away, it would stop trying to unbalance him so severely. Or was it the floor itself that was shifting?

The rest of Blake's team and the professor slowly lowered their weapons. Yang cracked a nervous smile. "So, that's that, right?"

So it was.

He collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it's reasonable that Salem would have those weird creepy Grimm deployed wherever she's making moves. I mean, instantaneous communication across continents without the CCT? No reason not to do it. And yes, the whole mind-invasion thing isn't canon, but if they've already got telepathy and their whole thing is being a creepy crystal ball…why not?


	5. Chapter 5

For minutes or hours, he faded in and out, never lingering long enough to catch more than flashes of his surroundings. The darkness of the underground city became the muted moonlight of the streets above. Howling Grimm were replaced by a bullhead's rumbling engines. At some point, someone made a phone call. He didn't catch the words.

When he did finally wake up, he did so to cuffs on his wrists and bandages around his chest. For a minute, he stayed still, feigning unconsciousness until he had a better sense of where he was.

"—not too bad. I mean, we've all taken out a lotta Grimm."

That was Yang's voice. Judging by her tone, he was coming to in the middle of a conversation.

"Ah, but Grimm and people are two very different groups." Male—had to be the professor, unless they'd picked up someone else on the way out, someone other than the pilot presumably in the cockpit. "What you saw today would affect even the most seasoned of huntsmen and huntresses. There is no shame in admitting that."

"Can we," that young voice had to be Ruby, "can we maybe talk about something else?"

"Of course. I don't mean to make this hard on you but please know that after we return to the school there will be resources made available to you should you desire to use them."

"Thank you, Professor." The Schnee. The Schnee who was very much still alive.

"Doctor."

"…Sorry."

As the silence dragged on, he debated "waking up" in an obvious way just to get it over with.

"Hey, Blake," Yang said quietly, stopping him from doing so. "He's the mentor you were talking about, isn't he? The one who let you go."

"He is." Blake was sitting right next to him. That was unexpected.

"So much for his claim that he would change the White Fang," the Schnee sniffed. "He nearly killed me on sight!"

"Adam's been through a lot. And…he didn't, if that counts for anything."

"That scar on his face," said Ruby, voice small. "Did your company really do that?"

"W-well, I may be the heiress, but you can't expect me to know every little thing that happens in every little corner of every Dust mine!"

"We're not accusing you of being okay with something like that," Yang said. "You admitted it yourself last night: the SDC does some messed-up stuff."

Last night. Was it morning?

"Yeah," Ruby added. "I just—something _that_ bad. Is it possible?"

"I…didn't think it was."

"There are many parts of this world far darker than what you ladies have been exposed to thus far in your lives." The professor again. "Granted the faunus fought hard for equality and recognition after the Great War and achieved great progress towards those goals but there will always be discriminating individuals who will not see them as equals and, well, discriminate. While the Schnee Dust Company certainly has extremely questionable business practices and there are accusations aplenty of labor force exploitation I believe cases like Mister Taurus's are indicative more of the darkness within individuals than the system as a whole."

He could almost picture the Schnee's relieved smile. "See, that's—"

"That being said Miss Schnee, it is a knowingly permissive system that allows these kinds of horrors to be perpetuated and that kind of missing oversight is precisely why organizations like the White Fang always appear to have more fuel to add to their fires. To ignore an issue is to let it fester, as they say."

"People say that?" Ruby whispered, presumably to her sister.

That was enough listening to people discussing him as though he wasn't present. He hadn't worn a mask most of his life because he _wanted_ people talking about the mark on his face and how it got there.

He sat up with a grunt, and all conversation died.

Blake was sitting against the bullhead's interior wall to his left, shoulders bowed from exhaustion, bandages peeking out from under her vest on her stomach. Everyone else was across the hold. Only the strange professor split the difference, but he was so busy flipping through a notebook and making annotations that Adam wondered if he even realized he was in no man's land.

Wilt and Blush weren't with him; they were on the opposite side of Blake. A fair compromise, he supposed, and it was leagues better than any of the humans handling his weapons. His mask was there too. Blake must have grabbed it.

Ruby slowly let her hand fall from whatever gesture she had been making to Yang.

He glanced at Blake. "How long was I out?"

"About an hour. How are you feeling?"

Closing his eyes, he took stock. His aura had clawed its way into a percentage that was probably only in the single digits. The wound in his chest, now treated, was healing slowly. He could feel the bandages lightly pulling on his skin under his shirt every time he took a breath. His bruises and burns from the explosion and Cinder's wrath were also healing, but they flared with pain when he tried to move them. He was as weak as he'd ever been, weaponless in a ship full of huntresses in training and a full-fledged huntsman, and without an exit strategy. The only thing waiting for him beyond this ship's walls was prison, if not execution.

He opened his eyes. "The cuffs are too tight."

For a second, she didn't get it. He let the wry twist to his lips show, and she smiled. It was a poor joke, but it was enough to ease the suffocating tension. Across the hold, Yang's eyes went wide.

"Hold on a sec," she said, and his walls crashed back into place. The short one elbowed her and the Schnee hissed something at her, but she kept going. "You're that guy Blake's always calling, aren't you? I thought I recognized your voice." She looked between them. "Are you two, like…"

_"Yang!"_ the red one whispered, a little desperately. Adam was reminded of a puppy.

"A thing?" she finished.

Oh, the irony. Perhaps it was his exhaustion loosening his tongue or perhaps he just could not see a point in holding his silence, but he found himself responding. He did glance at Blake first, just to make sure he was doing so appropriately. Her face was red, though whether it was from the question itself or the fact that Yang had asked it in circumstances like these he couldn't tell.

"No," he said, looking back to Yang. Sure, they used to be. Many, many years ago for him. It was more recent for Blake, but they had both known that when she was leaving him at the camp, she was _leaving_ him. He was…surprisingly okay with the thought. Possibly because Blake was still sitting next to him. "We're just friends."

"Friends," the Schnee repeated weakly, more to herself than anything. She was still visibly shaken up from nearly dying at his hands. As long as it saved him from hearing more from her than was the bare minimum, he was fine with that.

"Adam," Blake said, lost.

"Do you disagree?" he asked softly. "We're not good for each other, Blake."

Not entirely true. She was good for him, current state aside; his choice to blow up the train and accept the consequences was his own.

Because he had listened to her in Forever Fall, he could think with a clarity he hadn't known in years. He was, oddly enough, satisfied with where he was. And, because he had listened to her in Forever Fall and in every call afterwards, the White Fang was gaining unprecedented support from faunus across Vale. Every White Fang recruit saw him not just as some specter of vengeance against the humans but also as a protector of their people.

Yet, in reverse, he could not think of how his influence had benefited Blake. Everything he had done for her was a lifting of a restriction he himself had put in place. Letting her change the mission he'd arranged. Letting her leave the camp he'd pressed her to stay in. Letting her go after Torchwick and—though she didn't know it—Cinder when he'd been the only thing trying to stop her.

It was obvious on every call: at Beacon, Blake was happy. Without him standing over her shoulder, she was quicker to smile, quicker to show her dry sense of humor, quicker to take initiative. Besides, there was no erasing what she'd witnessed while they were both trapped by the Grimm. Even if she believed him a changed man, those scenes would always be in the back of her mind, just like they would always be in the back of his.

As he held her gaze, he saw her finally admit all of that to herself.

"Friends," she agreed.

"You'll still call?" he asked, playful tone hiding the fear underneath. If there was ever a moment for her to reject him as she had before, this was it. Partners to friends was just the first step to becoming enemies. Perhaps she only needed more time to process what she had seen in the warehouse.

To his surprise, however, she let herself slide down the wall until her head was resting on his shoulder. "Yes. I'll still call."

Cuffed as he was, he couldn't wrap an arm around her and pull her just a little bit closer the way he wanted. Instead, he leaned into her as well, letting his head rest on hers.

There was no going back to what they had been before. Too much time and trauma muddying the waters. Moments like this, moments where they could just be together, would need to be enough.

"Why were you even here?" Blake mumbled. "I told you not to worry."

His eyes fell closed. "You saw what happened the first time." Though it had been only a glimpse in the whirlwind of his memories. "I couldn't let it happen again."

She made a quiet noise of understanding. The constant hum of the bullhead's engines and the vibrations they caused had almost lulled him into exhausted sleep when the professor's voice snapped him wide awake.

"I hate to interrupt a moment as tender as this after the unexpected combat we have been through today but it is imperative that we all understand how this mission will be wrapping up. You see, when I called the headmaster a short while ago and shared the state of the underground section of Mountain Glenn as well as the disturbing discovery we made upon encountering Mister Taurus in the warehouse after the train was rendered inoperable he requested that we divert our course and meet with him before speaking with anyone else."

His thermos whipped out, knocking the scroll from Yang's hand. Ignoring her indignant "Hey!", he took a sip of his coffee and kept going while Yang recovered her device. "That means no scrolls, is that understood? We will be landing in the back of the school and proceeding directly to the headmaster's office."

It took Adam's tired mind several seconds to parse the professor's rapid-fire delivery. When he did, he and Blake both sat up straight.

"You're not taking me to prison," he clarified slowly.

"There are extenuating circumstances at play and we will be taking unusual measures to deal with them. So no," he took another sip of his coffee, glasses flashing, "we are not, as you say, taking you to prison."

* * *

Adam had assumed—erroneously—that the headmaster of Beacon would have some distinct _presence_ about him. In news reports, interviews, and pictures, he seemed like nothing more than a bookish man with a penchant for having either a mug of something warm or a cane in hand at all times. Surely someone in his position with his power would carry with them some kind of gravitas wherever they went that recordings couldn't capture.

Standing here in his office, Adam observed nothing of the sort. Ozpin was a man. A white-haired, hot-chocolate-drinking man conversing with the motley crew assembled before him while the steam from his drink slowly fogged up his glasses.

Off to one side, Adam found the ticking gears in the ceiling and even in Ozpin's desk more entertaining than the conversation happening around him. Well, more the weapons on Ozpin's desk than the gears inside it. Blake had, at the headmaster's request, placed Wilt and Blush—as well as his mask—on the desk. Doing so seemed to reassure the Schnee, who had taken up her position as far from him as reasonably possible. Next to her was Ruby, then the green-haired professor, then Yang, and then Blake.

Adam glanced behind him. The wall was only a few paces away, but a conspicuous few paces. If he took them, the paranoid humans would probably accuse him of attempting to escape. In truth, he wanted something to lean against. The rest on the Bullhead had been enough to replenish the dregs of his strength so he doubted he would pass out again, but fighting his way out was far beyond him. Fleeing wasn't even an option; he doubted he could outrun the child Ruby at this point. So, right now, even something as simple as leaning against a wall instead of standing straight, would offer a little relief.

Ozpin raised his mug to take a drink, pulling Adam's attention away from the wall that was regrettably out of his reach. "I see. And after the train began to move, it exploded." His gaze switched to Adam, the first time the headmaster had acknowledged him since the start of this meeting. "I assume we have you to thank for that."

Everyone turned to him. He nodded.

"Very well. Please," he gestured to Ruby, "continue."

While the child rambled on about how their side of the mission went, Adam's focus wandered from Blake—who tried to put on a brave front for him before joining in on Ruby's report—to beyond Beacon's walls. No matter how much of an act Blake put on, they both knew this was the end of the line for him. He was caught. Not only that, but he was caught in a stronghold. Without an army of White Fang members, hacked Atlesian hardware, and the Grimm themselves storming the gates, Beacon would not fall.

There was no rescue coming. After this…debriefing, he was done. There was no waterfall, no shattering aura, no broken pieces of Gambol Shroud to make his fate obvious, but there could be no doubt.

He took some solace in that, this time, he would be the only one to suffer. James and Fable, and even Blake, should his absence motivate her, would be enough to hold the Vale branch together. Sienna would appoint someone new to the role. The White Fang would survive. Their revolution would survive.

He just…wouldn't be there for it. His story ended in failure— _again_.

Ozpin sat back in his chair, the fog clearing from his glasses. "Thank you for the report, Ruby. I appreciate your attention to detail. Professor Oobleck, might you have anything to add?"

The green-haired professor shook his head. "Not at all. I believe Miss Rose captured everything of relevance in her descriptions."

Nodding, the headmaster regarded the girls in front of him. "I informed General Ironwood about the situation in Mountain Glenn as soon as I heard about it from Professor Oobleck. He is, as you may be aware, acting as security in Vale for the approaching Vytal Festival. He sent some of his forces to ensure that there could be no second attempt at breaching Vale's walls."

"Did they find anything?" Yang asked.

"Did they find Torchwick?" Ruby added.

Adam thought back to the explosion. His semblance had not broken Torchwick's aura, merely bypassed it. Even unconscious, the thief likely had significant enough passive aura to take the worst of the blast. His coat would have helped him considerably in that regard.

So he was not at all surprised when Ozpin shook his head. "I'm afraid that they have not yet discovered any sign of Torchwick. Nor have they found any sign of this woman you fought in the warehouse, though the search is ongoing. Something to say, Miss Rose?"

She hesitated under the attention for a second, then rallied. "I think I've seen her before."

"Do tell."

"There's a student from Haven, and I kinda sorta literally ran into her a while ago. I never got her name, but her hair was the same, and they had the same eye color," she began to trail off, voice fading, "um, kinda golden-orange, I think…"

"I can confirm these traits in our assailant," Oobleck said with a sharp nod. "White skin, black hair parted to one side, and eyes just as Miss Rose has described. Though visibility was poor in the warehouse I have the utmost confidence that she was of relatively young age as well, certainly not much older than that any Beacon graduate if even that so passing as a student would most likely be well within her abilities."

Ozpin opened his mouth to comment. Adam beat him to it.

"Cinder."

Everyone tensed at the sound of his voice. He met Ozpin's gaze with equanimity, well aware of Blake's wide eyes seeking his own. "Her name is Cinder Fall. She has two subordinates, one with green hair, one with gray."

Ruby perked up. "Yeah, they were in the hallway too!"

His plan to take care of Cinder on his own had failed. He wasn't putting Blake at risk any longer by keeping her headmaster in the dark when he knew for a fact that Cinder had infiltrated Beacon. Of course a name would not be enough to keep Blake safe. He should have found some way to get her a picture.

"Do you know anything more about this Cinder Fall, Mister Taurus?"

He shook his head. "Just that she wants Beacon to fall, and," his words took on a pointed tone, "that she's not at the head of the operation."

"Very well. Thank you for sharing." Ozpin swept his gaze over the assembled teenagers and their guardian. "Team RWBY, you have all done very well to handle a mission that went in as unexpected of a direction as this one. You should be proud. You are all dismissed; take some time for yourselves. Rest. Recover. There is far more work ahead."

The girls turned to leave.

"And, please," they turned back, "do keep what transpired in Mountain Glenn among yourselves. Miss Belladonna, would you mind staying? You too, Mister Taurus. I have more questions for you two and what you experienced in that warehouse."

Adam and Blake exchanged a look. Blake exchanged a look with her team. Her team exchanged a look with Oobleck, which was probably the most neutral look among them. Each channel of communication flowed back towards the person who had initiated it, leaving Blake standing next to Adam while her team and their professor filed into the elevators.

Within moments of the doors closing, the only sounds in the office were the ticks and groans of the gears above.

"I don't see the point in you requesting that I stay when I have no choice," Adam said.

"There is always a point in courtesy. Now," Ozpin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers in front of his chin, "tell me what you saw in that warehouse before reinforcements arrived."

Adam kept his face blank but inwardly frowned. The woman had specifically mentioned Ozpin sending people against her. To think that the headmaster didn't already know about her was absurd. Ruby and Yang had mentioned their observations of a woman in the Grimm during the report. Why was Ozpin dancing around the issue? In fact, why had he not attempted to gather more information on the woman while everyone was present?

"Adam was there the longest," Blake said hesitantly. Unlike Adam, she did not seem as put off by Ozpin's strange priorities. "When I arrived, he was already," she swallowed, "the Grimm had put one of its spikes in his chest. Cinder cut me off before I could get to him. I tried to throw him his weapons, but it didn't look like he could use them. The Grimm hit me while I was trying to fight Cinder, and it…it pulled me into this vision."

"It required physical contact to affect you?"

"I think so."

"And what was this vision?"

"It was…It's hard to describe."

"Whatever you can give will be enough."

Swallowing, Blake glanced at Adam. He only stared back. She had taken the lead; Ozpin was focused on her.

"It was a lot. A lot of places and a lot of people. I think they were Adam's memories."

"The Grimm must have been a seer. Only they possess the abilities to invade a person's mind in such a way. What else did you see?"

Blake glanced at him again. "Like I said, it was hard to keep it all straight. There was too much to process. I saw Forever Fall."

"Did you get a sense of what the woman was looking for? Why she would take such an interest in you and Mister Taurus?"

"I…don't really know. She paid a lot more attention to Adam than to me."

For all that Blake had the spotlight, all this dancing around the issue was wearing on his nerves. He narrowed his eyes. "She was ripping through my memories to figure out how I arrived in the past from the future so that she could do the same thing."

In the ringing silence that followed, the gears were the only things that moved. Ozpin's eyes had gone wide, and Adam got the sense that he was not often surprised like this. Still, he recovered quickly.

"Did she?"

He preferred not to think about the final minutes in that dream world. "I doubt it. She said that it was a tear. That it sent only my mind through, not my body. It wasn't anything I was trying to do. My semblance can't cut time."

"And if it were a Grimm," Ozpin muttered, "she would have done something with it by now."

"If someone like her _did_ figure it out at any point," Adam continued, eyeing Ozpin closely, "I think we'd know by now."

The headmaster's shoulders fell. Where the woman had held the rage of ages, he only bore the weight. "Yes. We would have."

Heaving a sigh, Ozpin straightened in his chair, and the uncharacteristic heaviness to his posture vanished. "We should all be thankful the secrets of time remain known only to myth and legend." His gaze switched to Blake. "Miss Belladonna, you must be exhausted. Please, get some rest."

"I'm okay," Blake said, visibly swaying on her feet. Unlike Adam, she'd had almost a full day of fighting Grimm before the train blew up and while waiting for transport back to Vale to arrive.

"I appreciate your loyalty," Ozpin said. He softened his voice. "That said, I must request that you take your leave." Still Blake hesitated. "You _are_ tired, I can see that. What we discuss in your absence I will tell you about later, when you and your team have not just come back from a trek through city full of Grimm and hired guns that, as I have come understand, exploded."

That did it. She glanced at him, composure folding to reveal the weariness beneath. He nodded; she didn't need to push herself like this. A cynical part of him played with the absurdity of this whole situation. He let it do so far in the background of his thoughts.

When the elevator doors slid closed, Ozpin regarded Adam much as he had at the start of this meeting. This was to be a reset, then.

Adam could guess where this was going. Threats, probably with plenty of mention of his future in a jail cell or on an execution stand. Ozpin played the part of the chivalrous headmaster well, but he was still only human. He wanted something, and like every human, he would use pain, real or threatened, to get it. Perhaps he would even incorporate the remaining ships of the Atlesian fleet floating in the skies beyond the window.

"I need you to tell me everything," Ozpin said. "Not just what transpired in Mountain Glenn, but how you became involved with Cinder Fall in the first place."

He was omitting the threats. That was original, at least. "You'll have to be more specific."

"For now, just this timeline, please."

For now.

Instead of voicing his derision, Adam provided a clipped and rather abbreviated report of events starting with Cinder's first meeting with him up to waking in the bullhead. His time under the woman's influence was particularly light on details. It was the most antagonistic debrief he had ever given. If Ozpin noticed or cared about his tone, he gave no sign of it. When Adam finished, the headmaster set down his drink, stood, and stared out at the ships beyond his window.

It was…strange. He had described a woman controlling the creatures of Grimm who, now that he was thinking about it, bore no small amount of physical resemblance to them. A woman who knew about Ozpin and had all but stated that Ozpin knew about her.

So Ozpin was calm. Ozpin was too calm. Ozpin was far, far too calm in the face of there potentially being a _Queen of the Grimm_.

"You know," he breathed, realization washing over him like a wave. "You know about her. Do all of the headmasters know? Is this some grand secret among you? A way to keep the rest of us in check?"

The end of Ozpin's cane hit the floor with a sharp crack. "I would appreciate if you avoided making wild accusations. There is a lot more at play here than you understand, and if you are not careful, you could put yourself, and those you care about, in great danger."

His expression cooled. This would be a familiar kind of conversation after all.

Ozpin, however, sighed as he turned to face Adam, and the austerity to his expression slipped away. "I say this not as an attempt to cow you into submission, Mister Taurus, but rather as a fair warning. That woman, Salem, is dangerous, far more so than any other being on this planet, and she does not take resistance lightly. You have put yourself in her sights. There have been many men and women—each of them brave, each of them strong—who have faced her and not returned whole, or not returned at all." He reached for his mug almost as an afterthought.

Adam shifted on his feet, and the click of his cuffs against each other seemed to draw Ozpin back to the present.

"I didn't go to Mountain Glenn to fight her." He hadn't even known she existed.

"Of course." Ozpin sipped his drink. "You, a known terrorist, went there in what appears to be an attempt to interfere with an official huntsman investigation into suspicious activity in a city that was supposed to be abandoned." Another sip. A strange gleam in his eye. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Cinder mocked our cause by attempting to ally with us. I couldn't let that stand."

"She mocked your cause, yet you acted alone."

Ozpin was talking circles around him. Adam lost the fight against his scowl. "In the future, I saw where I ended up at her side. I saw how she used the faunus and then threw them aside when we no longer suited her needs. It was her who dragged me into her plans. I acted alone because my comrades don't deserve to be forced into that fight again."

"I see."

A gear swung by overhead, casting a deep shadow before the light returned.

"By all accounts, you have also encouraged a radical shift in the White Fang's policies here in Vale." He pressed a button on his desk, and holo-images came to life above it: pictures from all the protests his forces had guarded. "Not long ago, your people were encouraging violence at these events, not disrupting it."

He couldn't figure out Ozpin's angle. What did he want? "It was foolish to waste resources fighting ourselves when we could be stronger together."

"A nice sentiment." The pictures disappeared. "Rather difficult to do much as a unified force when you strike out on your own, is it not?"

This was quickly becoming rather repetitive and equally pointless. "It wasn't their fight."

"Do you regret it?"

Not pointless.

"After all, I doubt you desired to wind up here with the possibility of imprisonment or worse awaiting you. An army may have prevented this from happening."

Gritting his teeth, he looked away. Ozpin only waited.

"No," Adam finally bit out, unable to take the silence. "I don't regret it."

"I see." Ozpin came out from behind his desk to lean against it, drink set aside and seemingly forgotten. His right hip was less than an inch away from Adam's mask. "You look at yourself and you see a failure. A soldier who has disappointed his creed, his cause, and his kin by ending up here. One who has nowhere left to go." Another shadow of one of the gears above passed along the floor. "I look at you, and I see an opportunity."

A recruitment pitch. Caught between the audacity and the absurdity of it, Adam could only stare.

"Salem has always drawn her forces from those who turn their backs on the world, those who don't care and," his voice grew heavy, "those who believe there is nothing left to do with it but burn it down."

Adam narrowed his eyes.

"Despite our best intentions, there will always be individuals who slip through the cracks of society. That is inevitable. I have hoped for so long that we would be able to narrow those pitfalls, but as your organization has shown, they are as wide as they have ever been.

"So, when the only daughter of the Belladonna family and a known affiliate—if not member—of the White Fang applied to this school, I believed it was the right choice to accept her. I believed, and still do, in second chances. And while it is indisputable that you have a bloodier history than Miss Belladonna, your recent changes to the White Fang in Vale are an encouraging sign that you have decided there may be something worth preserving in this world after all. I can't profess to know what happened in your future, and I will not ask—"

"Are you sure?" Adam asked, tilting his head and speaking with a distinctly sardonic edge. "You could be missing out on valuable intelligence." Like the fact that Atlas's precious mechanical legions had all been hacked.

"I don't doubt it. However, we are all entitled to our own secrets. Consider it a sign of trust."

Trust. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "We both know what happens once I'm dragged out of your office. It doesn't matter what 'trust' or what second chance you think you can offer. It's all meaningless."

Ozpin picked up his mug and took an irritatingly long drink. "Is it?"

Before Adam could lose his patience, Ozpin set the mug down again, where it resumed fogging up the desk's glass surface. "You see, I am not inclined to toss you into prison, as much as a certain Atlesian general might like to have that be the case. I believe you could be a far more valuable resource than prisoner."

Adam's lip curled. "I didn't become what I am to help you righteous fools."

"Fools we may be," Ozpin acknowledged, "but remember: that woman knows who you are. You dealt them a great blow, so they will take time to recover. Nurse their wounds. But they will return. _She_ will return. And she does not need to be able to reach you to hurt you."

Despite himself, the thought of being trapped by that hellish Grimm again had him hesitating. If that woman, if Salem caught him again—

He scowled. "I'm not being used again. Not for a human cause. I don't care what your end goal is. And if you thought for even a second that I would turn on the faunus, that I would _spy_ on them for you, you're far more delusional than I expected."

Unfazed by his hostility, Ozpin let him cool or a few seconds before responding. "Not as a spy, but as an ally. Huntsmen, Huntresses, and the White Fang standing as a united front that can rightly claim it is protecting _everyone_."

"I just told you—"

"This is something greater than humans, greater than faunus, greater even than the creatures of Grimm." For a moment, as Ozpin stared him down, Adam swore the gears stopped turning. "Just as you do not care about our mission, so too does Salem disregard yours. To her, after your actions, the White Fang is nothing more than another obstacle to be removed. She may start with you. She may not. But she will start somewhere."

Adam's hand curled into a fist. He forced himself to relax. "I won't deny she's a threat. But right now, she's not the one holding a gun to the head of every faunus."

"As headmaster of Beacon, I hold a certain amount of sway with the Vale council and with the direction of this academy and its curriculum. You are within your rights to ask things of me in exchange for this kind of truce, though I will caution you against anything extreme."

"There's nothing you can offer me that will change my mind."

Ozpin's lips turned down at the corners, though his tone remained civil. "If you are not with her, you are against her."

"That's not enough to throw all of the White Fang into a conflict against some kind of god that I didn't know existed ten hours ago. We were formed to fight for the faunus, not against the Grimm."

"Surely you can see that this threat extends to you as well. If we work together, we stand a far better chance of survival."

He _could_ see that. He _had_ seen that. Such observations didn't stop the idea of allying with humans from leaving a sour taste in his mouth, however. Although, even paying lip service to such an alliance would leave him with a huntsman academy's headmaster in his debt…

Just by considering the possibility, Adam knew he was being swayed. The mere thought of Salem was enough to make his heart pound and the room seem colder. He shuddered to think what someone in control of the creatures of Grimm could do to the White Fang, to the faunus, when there was more than just a seer available.

But.

"If you want the White Fang's support, you'll need to give me more than vague threats of annihilation and lofty ideals of cooperation."

He was omitting a few details in how that support could even be gained. Yes, he had sway as the branch leader, but he was far from having the final word. He couldn't even remember his last conversation with Sienna in this timeline, but he would never forget his betrayal from the old one. That was not an option here; his belief that he was a more fitting leader than her had been a delusion encouraged by Cinder's faction.

Force was not the answer, but it would take time and effort to sway the Fang into believing that they should split their focus. Time and effort that he would be investing on behalf of a human.

He needed to be sure.

As though he also needed some kind of proof, Ozpin merely watched him. Adam shifted on his feet, burdened by the sudden and uncomfortable feeling that he was being put on trial in a courtroom he couldn't see. Though the only other man in the room was Ozpin, the headmaster's gaze carried the weight of judge, jury, and executioner. Swallowing, Adam forced himself to remain relaxed and blank-faced.

Still the silence stretched on. The gears were turning, but under their constant chorus were other noises: the elevators operating as they shuttled people to and from the communications room; someone performing maintenance with some kind of drilling tool; air whistling through the grates of the ventilation ducts.

Ozpin's drink was still steaming. Its ring of fog on the desk's surface had widened to a couple inches thick. At this rate, it would reach his weapons. He tried not to twitch. Logically, he knew that a little condensation wouldn't do anything to Blush.

"Mister Taurus." Ozpin's voice shattered the silence. "What is your favorite fairy tale?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the bullhead, Yang had her scroll out because she was attempting to take a picture of Blake and Adam leaning against each other. She thought it was cute, terrorist's history and recent Schnee assassination attempt aside. Whether she actually managed to take the picture…I'll leave that up to you.
> 
> This is pretty much as far as my plan went after I decided to make this story more than a oneshot. Thus, in the interest of pursuing my other Adam stories, I'm ending it (or, at least, calling it complete) here. I also don't want to make promises I can't keep or take one of my favorite stories that I've written and turn it into a rambling mess. Maybe in the future I get more ideas and come back. Maybe I don't. Either way, it's been fun.


End file.
